I was in Navy boot camp in San Diego so there was no staying in bed. I got up, dressed, mustered with my shipmates and marched to chow even though I couldn’t couldn’t eat or drink. The order I was waiting for came after breakfast but, thankfully, before calisthenics: “Sick, lame or lazy, fall out!”
I fell out.
Seaman Recruit Stith
In boot camp no sympathy is wasted on sick sailors, some of whom, those in charge firmly believe, are not sick at all, just lazy.
I marched to the spot reserved for sailors who said they were sick [or lame or lazy] and stood at parade rest for more than an hour before Navy corpsman put a thermometer in my mouth.
When he took it out, and looked at it, he called an ambulance and they took me away. I stayed in sick bay –the hospital — for seven days, getting penicillin shots in my bottom.
Postscript: Normally, because I had been in sick bay for a week, the Navy would have sent me to a new company, a week behind mine, so I wouldn’t miss any training. Lucky for me my company was assigned to KP that week, so the only thing I missed was my turn washing dishes.
During the first few days of boot camp there were several fist fights between Navy recruits in my 80-man company. Nothing serious. A busted lip, a bloody nose, and it was over. Maybe that was just part of getting acquainted.
After a week or so of fighting one of the recruits climbed up on what looked like a picnic table in the middle of the barracks and yelled for quiet. He had something he wanted to say.
I didn’t know the guy but I could see that he wasn’t very big, 5-10, 160 pounds, maybe. He talked country.
“I don’t want to fight anyone, because I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I’m a black belt.”
Some of the guys laughed, and started making unkind remarks. Black Belt interrupted:
The head in a recruit barrack
“I know some of you don’t believe me, so let’s get this over with now. I’m going to go in the head [that’s what sailors call the bathroom] and wait. If you want to fight, line up at the door. Bring your piece [rifle] with you so at least you’ll have a chance.”
And without another word he stepped down off the table and went into the head.
No one was laughing now. And no one lined up at the door.
THE BONDING
We were marching to breakfast when the recruit who had been named commander of our company sang out, “Column left, march!”
It was a surprising order but our guidon, the guy who claimed to be a black belt, turned smartly and so did the columns of men behind him. Our company commander had spotted a gap in the long line of companies waiting to go to chow and had turned us into the gap.
We had broken in line.
Recruit company commanders were selected more for their brawn than their brains. The Navy picked the biggest, toughest looking recruit in each company and put him in charge, so he could enforce order with his fists.
Within seconds the commander of the company behind us strode up to our guidon and asked who was in charge, where was our company commander?
“I don’t know,” Black Belt answered.
Where was he? He was hiding! Our commander had stepped into the ranks and, in effect, disappeared after he got one look at the monster who had come calling.
“Gimme me your flag!” Monster said to Black Belt. “I’m gonna turn you in.”
He grabbed our Company 26 guidon and tried to pull it away, but Black Belt held on. I was a squad leader, so I was standing at the head of a column, the closest man to Black Belt. I stepped out ranks, and took hold of the guidon.
Monster, who was roughly the size of a pro football tackle, turned to me and said he could beat my fanny from one end of the grinder to the other, or words to that effect.
“I don’t doubt that,” I told him. “But you still can’t have our guidon.”
And then he just let go and walked away.
THE PAYBACK
I was sweating, but what could I do?
I had put one of the guys in my squad on report for constantly talking in ranks. As punishment he was going to have to wear his hat in his mouth for weeks, until boot camp was over. He was pretty sore about that and had put the word out that he and his friends were going to give me a blanket party.
Blanket parties can be brutal affairs. A blanket is thrown over the honoree and the guys who are throwing the party beat the hell out of him. If you don’t have friends who are willing to stand up for you, to fight for you, you get hurt.
Recruits were packed together and, early in training, you only knew the guys who bunked close by.
I thought the guys bunking around me would help me but, well, you really never knew about that until the party started.
It was almost lights out when Black Belt, who bunked pretty far away, yelled at me. Everyone could hear.
“Hey, Stith,” he said. “I hear they’re going to give you a blanket party tonight.”
I replied, “That’s what I hear.”
“When the party starts, call me,” Black Belt said. “I’ll come help you.”
There was no blanket party for me that night, or any other night.
