I GO INTO THE ARMY
That bus ride to Fort Ord that night from the Oakland Induction Center,
was a life changing event. When I got off the bus my whole world
of freedom and liberty would never be the same. I was given a number to remember,
that was to be my military identification number. I can still recall everyone on
the bus trying remember their numbers. I still remember mine. We
were told that we had to know this when we got off the bus, or we would be in big
trouble. While traveling on the bus we were treated OK. The people in charge of
taking us to Fort Ord seemed to care about our welfare, at least on the surface.
However, all that was going to change as soon as we got off the bus at Ord.
When we got there it was after four in the morning. I had to
find a rest room real bad. We had a sergeant get on the bus at the gate. He
began to yell at us. Every other word was a four lettered word. He kept yelling
and went down the aisle of the bus yelling at each and every one of us. He would
stick his face about two inches from our faces and would be yelling at the very
top of his lungs. He wanted to let us know that he was in charge. He also let us
know that we were his to do with as he wished. I knew then that this was not
going to be much fun.
He took out a whistle and began blowing long and loud right
up next to my face. My ears must have keep ringing for several hours afterwards.
Then he said that we had one minute to get our stuff and ourselves off the bus.
We scrambled out that door of the bus as fast as we could to
line up in the parking lot. We all gathered together on that cold parking lot in
what we thought was some type of military formation. He then yelled some more at
everyone. Then he pushed a couple of the kids around and made some do push ups.
He took a roll call by reading off the list of names that were supposed to be
there.
When he came to McDonald there was a long silence, as no one
responded to his call. He got mad and started to get nasty and more profane in
his word choices. I remember thinking that this McDonald guy was going to be in
real big trouble, then as I awoke from my daydream state, I realized that
McDonald was my real name. t I was no longer being called by my step dad's
name of Engelking. I called out that I was there. I thought the sergeant was
going to kill me right there in front of the entire group.
He told me that he would be watching me all through basic to
make sure that I did not screw anything up. I did not explain to him why I had
not answered. I did not think it was a good time to ask him to go to the rest
room, even though I was ready to explode. We had to spend several hours filling
out more paper work before we finally got issued some bedding stuff. It was
already sunrise when we were taken to a barracks and given a bed.
We just got our stuff laid out and fell onto the beds when
another sergeant came in to the barracks and started blowing his whistle at us.
He said something about not letting us sleep all day long. We had less then
twenty minutes sleep and I was having a difficult time keeping my eyes open. But
fear of the sergeant was a great motivation to remain awake. I was not sure what
would happen to any of us if we fell asleep.
We were taken out of the barracks to have breakfast. What an
experience that was. My first Army meal wasn’t as good as advertised and I
left no tips. I realized that food was going to be one of those pleasures of the
past and resigned myself to eat at a place they called the "Mess
Hall". That just seemed so right for the name.
Issuing uniforms was a joke. I was in line for uniforms and
when I got my turn the choice of sizes was limited to two of the larger sizes. I
was asked what size I wanted. I told them small with short arms and they issued
me the same size as the guy in front of me as well as in back of me. I figured
that since one of them was six foot three and the other was over two hundred
pounds, that one of us would not fit into his uniforms very well. I found out
that someone was me. The uniforms hung all over me. The only item that fit good
was my hat that I was issued, they all came in large sizes.
That first week they were not ready for all of us. We had to
stay in a holding company. They had us wait a week for our company to be put
together before we were sent to basic training. Items such as hair cuts and some
basic instructions on how to march and stand in formation began while we waited.
I found out real fast that not everyone knows the same left, or right. The group
of men would turn all kinds of directions when commands were given to turn right,
or left. I think everyone understood English, but we didn’t understand
"sergeant
talk" yet. It took a while to figure out what their grunts and yelling all meant
in English.
They marched us to the medical unit for a series of ten
overseas shots. The problem was that I had just had been given all these same
shots. When I joined the MSTS, I was given all these very same shots, just
one week prior. I had gotten sick the first time I got all these shots. I was concerned about how my body would react to a second time. I took out my
international shot record card and showed it to the guy in charge of giving the
shots. I tried to explain how I got sick from those same shots just days before
and I that I was still ill. They said everyone gets them. They said that if
the Army had not given them to me, then there was no official shots. My protest
fell on deaf ears. I was given all the shots again.
It was not long afterwards that my body reacted. I just knew
that I was going to die those first three weeks in basic training. I was so sick
but I was more afraid of my sergeant than of dying, so I continued each day. I did
everything I was asked to do and avoided making any more complaints. I had a
fever and chills and my entire body hurt inside and out. I also got a bad cold
during this time and was running a high fever all the time. To make matters even
worse, the Army was making all the basic training units keep every window in the
barracks open all day and all night. The outside temperatures were a cold moist
50 to 60 degrees during the day. There was an ocean breeze and fog most every
day to go along with the cold. The reason the windows were keep open were in reaction to
several basic recruits dying from meningitis. I do not think they were
concerned about my health, as long as I did not die, because that was too much
paper work.
I was willing to do whatever I had to do to get through basic
training. I was so sick and sore all the time, that it made it a difficult task.
I found myself pushing some unknown buttons for energy. Somehow, I managed to
make the long marches and runs that we had to do each day.
I had a difficult time however, getting qualified with the
rifle. We had M-14's at this time. I almost did not pass the qualification test
at the end of basic. The problem was not that I was such a terrible shooter,
although to some degree that was also true, but I couldn’t even see the
targets when they popped up. The sergeant did not want anyone to fail to qualify
with the rifle. This would have reflected badly upon him and his training
abilities, so I believe he cheated on my score card. He would tell me that there
were 3 or 4 targets coming up and he would even tell me the distance down range.
He told me to fire off a round for every target that came up regardless if I
could see it or not. He would score my hits for me on the card. When I was
completed I had passed with the lowest score in the company.
Basic was a lonely and long ordeal for me. I only got letters
for the most part, from my mother. Her letters would tell me about all her
problems and those of my sister Marsha and everyone else. They were not the type of
letters that picked you up and encouraged you. I was there for the Thanksgiving
holiday and when Christmas came I got to use a few days of leave to go home for
a visit. My friends were all trying to stay out of the service at this
time. They were all in college.
I could feel the distance between my old high school friends and myself already
beginning to grow.
When our company graduated, my family did not want to make
the trip down to see the graduation ceremony at Ord. I was given an award as one
of the top graduates of the company. It seems that I was given some
consideration for my gung ho attitude and my aggressive skills in some of the
other areas of training.
I got orders to go to helicopter maintenance school at Fort
Rucker, Alabama. I also found out that almost all of the men in our company were
heading to the same school. I realized that I had signed up for an extra year of
enlistment time for nothing. I would have had the same training as the two year
draftees.
I stopped off at home first, before flying to Alabama. I spent
a couple of days there just trying to get my health back and sleeping some long
hours. I did feel somewhat better when I left. I didn’t mind leaving home. I
actually looked forward to getting out of California to someplace I had never
been .
Return to Personal History
Menu
