NAVY BOOT CAMP
Posted: Mon Mar 16, 2026 10:02 pm
It appears its been about five months since this forum had a 'story' posted, so here I am. 
Ok...this story is long, but my hope is that it will bring back some memories that some of you Navy old timers can reminisce about. Maybe some of you experienced 'some' of the things I did. Possibly, some of you who never went military may enjoy my perusals and experiences of my 11 weeks of boot camp.
This story is a personal collective of what I endured during my bootcamp daze. Some of it may come across as humorous, unbelievable, ugly and triumphant. I hope for those of you who choose to read it, thoroughly enjoy my recollection of 56 years ago. Let's begin...
BOOT CAMP DAYS / SAN DIEGO
Late August - Early November 1970
I joined the Navy under a program called “The Buddy System” and under the Delayed Entry Program. We had ‘committed’ to joining prior to graduation in May 1970, then left for Boot Camp several months later, after graduation. Me and two other friends joined the Navy and were guaranteed to go through Boot Camp (BC) together. But after BC, we would be given separate orders and go our own way, on behalf of the Navy. You know what NAVY stands for, right? “Never Again Volunteer Yourself”. I learned that cliche the first day in Boot Camp.
In August of 1970, we got onboard that Westbound 747, didn’t think before deciding what I’d do, (remember that song?) that flew us all the way to San Diego, California. I recall the moment we were bussed into NTC San Diego (Naval Training Center, SD). It had already been a long day and every one of us on that bus was tired and worn out, and most likely, mentally drained from unknown anticipation of what to expect. It was around 10 PM and some dude that seemed like he was on some sort of euphoric high was screaming and yelling at us at the top of his lungs to “get off the bus now, get over there and stand on a yellow square, move, move MOVE!”
We were called worms, dirtbags, pussies, mama’s boys, little girls and oh, so much, much more. And that was just in the first five minutes of getting off the bus. Each and every one of us, I’m sure, was silently saying to ourselves; “what in the world have I done, and what have I gotten myself into?” I know I did. And some didn’t use the word “world” when they were thinking it.
All of us eventually were told to ‘hit the bunks’ around midnight in our assigned barracks. We were never so relieved to be able to SLEEP. It took no time at all to get to slumber land park. Nobody talked, nobody moved around. Snore, yes…but that was the only sound in the silence of that night. That silence seemed to only last five minutes into our much desired dreamland.
All of a sudden, there was a huge loud banging coming from one end of the barracks to the other. Then the lights came on and more yelling commenced. “Get out of your racks, you miserable worms, you lowlife scum…move, move, MOVE!” We all scrambled out of our beds and just stood there, looking at the three 35 gallon empty metal trash cans that had been thrown down the middle of our barracks room. Another screaming yell; “Get to the end of your bunk and stand at attention! Don’t you move, don’t you say one word. Don’t look around, look straight ahead.”
Well, wouldn’t you know it…SOMEBODY gawked around the room, and the person yelling saw him do it. “Oh, I see someone can’t follow direction and instructions. All right you slugs, get in the pushup position NOW!” And down we all went, at 5 AM in the morning, in the pushup position. We ended up doing 50 pushups, with some not making that 50 count mark. I had no problem doing them, thanks to my boxing training and all those bales of hay I had picked up over the years on my Uncles farms. What I had problems with was the leg lifts, where you raise your feet six inches off the floor and you had to ‘hold’ that position…not for 10 seconds, not for 15 seconds, but until you were TOLD to drop them back down. We were finally told to “pop-tall”, which we figured out meant to get back into ‘attention’ position. We were screamed and yelled at for another five minutes, then told to get dressed and form up outside on the ‘yellow squares’ in five minutes.
Outside, all lined up really ugly, because we didn’t know any better, and didn’t have a clue, we were cordially introduced to our CC (Company Commander) He was a Machinist Mate Chief (MMC) and was a Submarine sailor. I came to know these sub sailors throughout my entire Navy career, as the biggest narcissistic underwater sailors of the Navy. Well, that’s what I thought back then.
However, we were thoroughly indoctrinated and being “washed of the brain”, we were educated and convinced that his first and last name was “SIR”. That same title also went toward any of his accomplices, who ensured that the CC had eyes in the back of his head. We learned real fast that; the CC sees all. We also learned that ‘our’ company was our CC’s very first company and that ‘he’ was out to prove he was the best CC there ever was…at our expense, of course.
So began my glorious 11 week stay at SunnySide “Hotel NTC”, a five star complex located in the immense basin of the San Diego Bay Area with Company 359. It came with all the amenities one could ask for. We had all the food we could eat in ten minutes, we got to run or ‘double time’, or even ‘march walk’ everywhere we needed to be.
We slept in an ‘open’ barracks where we could look down the long row of bunks and see all 45 of our roommates lounging around in their “everyone wears the same” white boxer briefs. We had our own personal washing machine to do our laundry, which consisted of a stiff brown bristle brush, soap and all the water we needed for washing and rinsing on a concrete granite slab. We also had personal clothes dryers consisting of strings we tied to each piece of our clothing EXACTLY how we were instructed to maximize full use of the free outdoor heating element ball that was casting wonderful rays of warmth upon our drying line. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Our first full day, Day 1, of our Naval Expedition for Higher Learning started at the Mess Hall for breakfast at 6 AM. We even got to walk to this venue in our civilian clothes, all the while being called names and hearing ‘other’ Company slugs call out to us; “Suckers,”, or “You’ll be sorry.” We ignored them, well…because Mr. SIR told us to keep our eyes forward and our pie-holes shut. We obeyed, thinking it would keep us from more pushups or setups. Oh, we were sooooooo wrong in so many ways. So, we were told we had 10 minutes to get in, eat and get back out onto ‘the spot.’ This wasn’t such a bad thing, until you realized that; if you were one of the last to get your food, by then, you only had about 4 minutes to eat and get back to ‘the spot.’
This is where my experience of hunger, due to not eating my mothers prepared food, came in handy. As an “L” getting to the chow line, I only had about five minutes, six max, to eat and get back onto the designated yellow spot. Whoa unto all of us if just one person was late getting back. The entire company learned real quick what parts of any meal was the most nutritious to eat, so as to sustain us physically until the next meal, leave the rest, just so we could all be back on the spot on time. It was a mental game, and if you didn’t play it correctly, one would end up losing it…and many did.
We managed to get back to the barracks without any chaotic yelling or screaming, albeit, some got chewed out for not staying in a somewhat straight line. We were pretty pathetic looking. We were shown how to properly make our beds up. Proper hospital corners that should look as though you used a micrometer on them for proper angle and dangle. The top sheet had to be ‘turned down’ the exact proper measurement and width, no more, no less.
Your wool blanket the same way, with hospital corners. Your pillow had to be facing a certain way with no divot anywhere on it. We were shown this ONE TIME, then told to go make our bunks up…inspection in 15 minutes. Yeah…that didn’t go well at all. We ended up with more pushups, sit-ups and leg lift’s. All this before 7:30 AM.
At 8 AM, we were lined up at the barbers where everyone participated in getting a new hairdo called the “buzz cut”. We all nervously laughed at each other in how, in 15 minutes time, our entire persona was changed to make us look like wimpy little baldheaded mama’s girls. Oh wait, it’s okay…that’s what the SIR’S call us, so we’re good. Whew!
From the haircutting facility, we moved on to the clothing supply store where we were provide every piece of blue denim wardrobe of Naval fashion once again, white-hats (better known as the ‘dixie cup’), shoes, black socks, three pairs of white boxer briefs, shower shoes, name stencil, service number stencil and a white and black indelible ink permanent marker. We were provided a Navy designed large olive drab round canvas suitcase to put all of our wonderful newly acquired government issued attire into. It wasn’t even 10:00 AM yet and it felt as though we had already been up for twelve hours. This new life I had opted for was mentally draining. We were learning how to do 8 hours of ‘stuff’ in 3 hours. We learned that this was part of the “breaking in” week.
The first week was pretty much orientation on how to properly fold every stitch of clothing the Navy way. Right on down to exactly how your “boon-dockers” (boots) were to be staged at night. We had tall lockers where everything was stowed, and there was a specific place for each item and how it was supposed to be laid in the locker cubicles. It was stressed very firmly that; we were NOT individuals doing our own thing, but that we were a team who worked together to accomplish what needed to be done. Many recruits just couldn’t grasp this concept, which ended up costing everyone. Many times we paid the price because someone didn’t want to play nicely and decided to do things on their own…the wrong way. I was beginning to be able to ‘hold’ my legs up during the leg lift routine. My abs were getting stronger due to all the ‘wrong ways.’
We did a lot of marching…A LOT! Sometimes we were out on the huge asphalt marching field (better known as “The Grinder”) for hours because, as a group, we just were not getting it right or good enough for the CC. We learned obliques, to the rear march, marching in one direction, and when the command was given, we would conduct an ‘about face’ while moving and march the other direction. We were like a bunch of keystone cops and drew a lot of stares and laughter from other company’s who had advanced to better perfection. We learned how to start off marching on the ‘left’ foot and learned that all commands were to be activated off the left foot. After lots of setups, pushups, leg lifts, we finally began to ‘gel’ and work as a team. We became proficient at marching, but it didn’t happen overnight. It was amazing just how much calisthenics taught you to get it right.
Using our washing machines, we scrubbed our dirty clothes every day. Pants, shirt, underwear, socks and white hats. We scrubbed the sweat stains from every armpit, the dirt ring on our white hats and the brown streaks from our boxer briefs. Then we would tie strings onto each piece and hang them on our dryer line so the heat and rays from the dryer could get all the moisture out. We soon became experts at washing and drying our clothes. We would then take the water hose and wash the granite slabs down and rinse all the suds into the drain area.
Shoe shining was paramount. Daily, we had “shining” time, and you better be able to see a reflection in the toes and heels of your boon-docker shoes. It did take time to get that really nice shine, but once you achieved it, it was easy to maintain. Many guys had never worn those clod-hoppers before and received numerous blisters. Some had to go back and get resized and get either smaller or larger size shoes, along with medical attention for their blisters.
We showered every day…and Lord help the ones who decided they didn’t need to wear their shower shoes in the bathroom / shower area. It only took one time for us to learn that lesson. From then on, we policed ourselves and ensured that everyone was wearing their shower shoes. Foot infections were not a big issue, but some did have to be treated for athletes foot.
As mentioned earlier, we are mostly called “worms”, a denigrating term to help us understand that we were ‘nobody’ and that we were no longer in charge of any part of our life. A lot of it was psychological, and I was never bothered by the name calling. I was so used to being called names in my younger years by the high school jocks, I would just let it run right off my back. However, there were several who just couldn’t deal with being called names or having the CC and assistants call your mother names, swear at you, yell at you a foot away from your face, etc. They were the ones who never had it rough at home or in school…or just plain life.
These were the ones who were loved the way one should be loved in a home environment, and to be subjected to such harsh words and having some dude say something about your mother…well, it was just too much for them. Many of us, including me, tried to talk to our ‘shipmates’ and tell them it was all psychological and a tactical means to get you broken down to a point where they then, would build you back up. Some understood this concept, others, not so much.
By the third week of boot camp, we lost at least five recruits who just couldn’t handle it anymore and allowed their spirit to be broken to the point of no return. They didn’t commit suicide or anything, they just gave up and were eventually placed in a ‘transfer’ barracks and administratively discharged and sent home. They ‘washed out’ so to speak. I fully understood that BC was all about breaking ones will, getting rid of their old way of thinking and being molded into the military way of thinking and doing things. Once everyone learned to accept this new mind bending modification of their lives, they realized things tended to ‘click’ a lot better and BC life ran a lot smoother. It was getting to that point that was hard, really hard for some.
Inspections by the CC were daily. If it wasn’t an inspection of our bunks, then it was an inspection of our lockers. Sometimes, both. One of the most devastating moments of BC for me was when we had gone to the mess hall to eat. It was probably around our fourth week. That day, when we returned from eating, we all walked into the barracks and saw what looked like a tornado had just plowed through, twisting and turning and throwing things halter skelter. Every bunk was overturned, every blanket, sheet, pillow and mattress was thrown everywhere.
Everyone’s locker had been tipped over, every piece of clothing in each locker had been tossed to and fro. Every recruits clothes were mixed up with everyone else’s. The entire barracks was a DISASTER. Some began crying, others moaned in disbelief…I had tears in my eyes and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I remember this reality like it was yesterday…yes, 56 years ago. No one knew why our CC and his personal commrads had done this…BUT, we found out why.
He had come in while we were out and conducted a ‘surprise’ inspection. He kept finding something wrong in each locker he inspected, or something wrong with a bunk. After inspecting a dozen and kept finding things wrong, like improperly folded clothes, a hospital corner out of whack or a pillow not aligned just right, he went totally berserk, went into a rage and did what our eyes were seeing.
He had us at attention and yelled, screamed, cursed, spit and taunted us with a beet red face for 30 minutes. He was so red in the face I thought he was going to stroke out. Every time he said something, spittle would fly from his mouth and his anger was so great he would fumble his words because of his self-made adrenaline rush of rage. It was that day that I realized this man is NOT right. I became scared of him, and at that moment, I told my self that I would NEVER trust this man again. I would feign respect, I would do as I was told, but I would never hold any respect for this man ever, no matter how he changed. What he did to us that day destroyed everyone one of our psyche and confidence. He practically broke each and every one’s spirit that day. Many of the young men in our company never did get over that, even though, somehow, each of us came out of that chaotic event stronger individuals.
When he was done with his personal tirade against us, he told us we had one hour to get this “fu***ing” mess cleaned and ready for another inspection…and shouted; ”AND IT BETTER BE RIGHT!”.
I don’t know how in the world we did it, but we worked fast and furious, like a well oiled machine, and sorted out everyone’s clothes (they were all marked by name…remember the stencils?). Everyone was handing everyone else pieces of clothing, while some were picking up the lockers and putting them back in place, along with the bunks.
When someone finished getting their locker or bunk squared away, they would go and assist some of the slower ones who were still in shock over this episode. Some were even still emotional with tears. I mentally worked through it all and decided right then and there that I was going to come through this unscathed.
We pep-talked each other, encouraged each other, praised each other. That day we BECAME MEN! And it had absolutely NOTHING to do with our CC or his assistants. It was like a mysterious invisible thing that swept over the entire room and touched everyone at the same exact time. Whether it was an internal strength of calm, a psychological enhanced attitude or an emotionally sustained temperament, it’s hard to convey or put into words. All we knew was; this was a huge life changing episode in all of our lives.
It’s funny how vividly I remember that episode so many years ago. There are a lot of things that occurred at BC that I don’t remember or recall in detail, but that is one of them. I’ve never harbored any long term animosity toward that CC, for in the long run, he got his…and I’ll tell you about that soon enough.
After that tornado event, our entire company became ‘tight’. We worked together, we marched with pride and determination. We called out our cadence with authority, and every other company knew who Company 359 was. We began winning awards for our company, which made our CC very happy. It helped to change his disposition toward us in certain ways. However, he was still as egotistical and overcome with his own personal narcissistic pride as he was since day 1 of our BC adventure. And the sad thing was; he actually thought his actions were the reason we changed. Oh, how wrong he was.
Me and a black guy were made “Sergeant at Arms” for our Company. We were tasked with ensuring everyone was squared away. I was never around black people before BC, so this was a whole new experience for me. Him and I became close friends, and we had nicknames for each other. I called him “Chocolate Drop” and he called me “Marshmallow”. We laughed and joked about that every day. There was NEVER anything racist about our attitude toward each other. We were the Oreo dudes of the Company and gained a lot of respect from the others.
We had one kid, and I mean ‘kid’ in our Company who was a total consistent screwup. He couldn’t do anything right. Actually, he would screwup on purpose because he didn’t want to be there anymore, so he thought that would get him sent home. All his attitude did was cause the entire platoon to pay for his antics and mindset. Our CC didn’t quite see it the way the kid did, so me and another very large recruit were tasked with “getting him in line” and straightened out.
Little did we know or fully understand was; he was already too far gone mentally. We gave him ‘blanket party’, which is where we would wait until he was asleep at night, then three or four of us would sneak up on him, pull his blanket over his head, hold him down so he couldn’t see who was doing what to him. We would then strike away at him with bars of soap wrapped up in our T-shirt. We hit him about a dozen times, then dispersed. Then the guy who held the blanket over his head would let him go and rush back to his bunk. By then, everyone in the barracks was awake and looking at our victim. He just laid in his bunk, cried loudly and yell and scream that he wanted to go home.
Allegedly, this tactic had been used before in other Company’s and worked. It didn’t work for this kid. He got worse. The CC was not pleased that the tactic didn’t work, so he told me and the big guy to do what we needed to do to get him straight. So, the next night, me and the big dude took him into the bathroom area and verbally chastised him and told him he better man up. All this kid would do is wail at the top of his lungs, scream, cry and curse us.
He stripped down naked and went and sat on the toilet and just went absolutely emotionally crazy. It was then we fully realized this kid was ‘lost’ inside. I pitied him, felt sorry for him and regretted my part in exacerbating his mental state. This kid was a mental case. We knew we had to contact the CC about this, which we did. When he got there, he made some calls, after witnessing what this kid was doing. He too knew the kid was a lost cause. The medical team on base came and picked this kid up and took him to the psych ward at the base hospital. We never saw him again. We were eventually told he was sent home after a long medical evaluation.
Did I feel guilty about what we put this kid through? Yes, to some extent, and I’m not proud of my actions of that day. I wished I hadn’t been a participating member in enhancing his mental state to the point it got to. However, I (we) also knew that no matter what, this kid would have ended up just as bad, if not worse if we hadn’t tried to ‘get him straight’. Were the wrong tactics used on him. Yes, I believe they were. In hindsight, this kid should have been removed from the Company long before he was. He just wasn’t cut out for military life. Me and the big guy also came to the conclusion that; the CC had ‘used’ us to do his dirty work, and we agreed that we would never do that again against one of our own. If I focus on that event hard enough, I can still hear this kid’s deep anguished cry, his wailing, his turmoil and broken spirit.
To this day, and over the many years since, I have often wondered whatever became of that young man. What kind of life did he lead after that traumatic experience. Did he become a model citizen, or did he become a rebel of society where he robbed, raped and killed people? Did he become someone worse than that, because of “me?” Maybe some day it will be revealed to me, because my spirit was torn that day too. Years later, I would ask for forgiveness to my Lord for my actions of that day.
So, we completed our fifth week on our side of NTC. There were two sides to BC at NTC. The first five weeks were on “Worm Island”…hence, us worms. The ‘advanced side’ was called “Squirrel Island”. And so, we moved on to the advanced side of BC and became ‘squirrels’. This side of BC was a lot more easy going, but that depended on one’s personal perspective. Our CC didn’t let up on us, and in a lot of ways, became more demanding of us to perform even better, for now we were supposed to be on the elite side of BC. We were issued our “Ice Cream” uniforms (our Working Whites and Dress Whites), along with our Dress Blues and Working Blues. We still wore our dungaree uniforms with the bell-bottom pants and the denim long and short sleeve shirts, depending on the weather.
The advanced side was more of a classroom environment where we were taught by paper, video, and lectures on how to wear an OBA (Oxygen Breathing Apparatus) for use during fire fighting training. We were taught how to use the Sound Powered Phones, the Phonetic Alphabet, proper speaking phrases, etc.
One of the exercises everyone went through was; There would be a line of about 20 of us seated in a row. At one end, an instructor would give the first person a statement that consisted of at least 20 words. He was given the statement no more than twice. When he was ready, he had to quietly repeat that phrase to the person next to him. Then that person had to repeat everything he had just been verbally provided to the person next to him…and so on down the line until it got to the last person.
The last person would recite what he had been given to an instructor, who wrote down exactly what the last recruit had told him. Then the first instructor who initiated the phrase read it out loud to everyone. The other instructor would then read out loud exactly what the last person in line had told him. The premise of this exercise was to bring out the reality of how distorted a message could and did become after relaying it through 20 people.
It was comical in a way and provided a good ‘laugh’, but the lesson really brought home the importance of focusing on repeating exactly what was initially stated. Our 20 word phrase ended up being a total of only six words at the end.
As a side note: The word “repeat” is NEVER used in all four branches of the military. It sounds too much like “retreat”. And yes, due to an incident during war time, I believe in WWII, the word “repeat” was used, and the troops thought “retreat” was used, so they retreated and lost that particular battle. Throughout the military, specific jargon is used, and the word “repeat” can mean several different interpretations, depending on the situation at hand. This is why, since then, the phrase; “SAY AGAIN” or “I SAY AGAIN” is used if something needs to be repeated.
We spent two days at the fire fighting class. One day in the classroom, the other day out on the firefighting range putting out actual fires. It was intense and got one’s adrenaline flowing. But we just learned the basics in BC, nothing advanced. That came later on once you were assigned shipboard duty. We learned about shipboard flooding and the basics on what to do to control it by ‘shoring up’ bulkheads (walls) and plugging holes and stopping leaking pipes. Again, this was something one learned more about once assigned to a ship.
I don’t recall a lot of what we went through on the advanced side. Probably due to not having to contend with CC drama, wrecked barracks and such. There is one incident that I do recall that has stuck with me over the years.
We were given non-firing M-14 rifles to learn how to disassemble and reassemble. We all became very adept at doing that. However, please don’t ask me how to do it now, for its been a while. Anyway…we had to learn what is called the “9-count manual” and the “16-count manual”. These were specific moves of the rifle from one position to the next. The 9-count was pretty simple to learn, but the 16-count was a bit more difficult. If interested about this, you can type this into YouTube and watch videos of military personal going through the moves.
One day, our CC had us out on the ‘grinder’ with our rifles to practice our counts. This was an event where he once again showed his arrogance toward us and invited some ‘other’ recruits who were in their 8th or 9th week of BC and were no better than us, to assist in making ‘corrections’ with anyone who wasn’t doing the counts properly. These three or four arrogant dudes would see one of us struggling to do a count right, and instead of actually helping us, these wanna-be thugs would scream and yell at us to “do it right, or else” crap.
Well, yelling wasn’t good enough for them, so they started getting physical toward us, then threatening. I was working my 16-count and I didn’t bring the rifle up to ‘right shoulder arms’ position correctly, and this dude walked up on my blind side and hit the side of my rifle hard, which knocked it into the side of my head. This angered me, and I’m thinking, “what the hell’. I looked at him, and this dude interpreted my look as a challenge. He then began berating me, yelling and screaming and asking me if I wanted to hit him. I was so angry, I had the beginning of rage tears streaming down my face. The dude then interpreted this as me being ‘weak’, so he started calling me a mama’s boy and a little pussy. I ignored him and looked straight ahead, for I knew I was not going to win this battle.
I made eye contact with my CC, thinking, “surely he isn’t going to allow this type of behavior toward his recruits.” Ummm…yep, he sure was. He looked at me and had a smirk on his face, almost laughing. Remember that respect I had lost for him? Yeah, I lost a whole ton more. Finally, I got the count and procedure correct and the dude walked off and left me alone. But I was not the only victim of their egotistical sadistic attitudes. We all wanted to ‘meet them’ after leaving BC to see how tough they would be then. Anyway…we all survived that and moved on to whatever was next.
Later on, I realized these ‘other’ shipmates were only doing what they had been told to do. They were given “authority” over us and they took open liberty with that authority. I realized that; their actions were no different than mine when the CC had given me the “authority” to ‘straighten out’ the kid back on worm island. These guys were being used too, against those of us who were several weeks behind in out tour of BC.
Finally, some time in November of 1970, we came to the end of our BC tour of duty. Graduation day was here and we were all decked out in our Dress Blues. We were not the only Company graduating that day. There were about 15 other Company’s who started the same time we did. The Parade Grounds was huge, bleachers set up and were filled with recruit’s parents, grandparents and loved ones. I had no one, which was okay by me. I had all the other guys I survived 11 weeks with, for the next 24 hours, before we all departed our own way to meet the wild blue yonder, the rolling waves and following seas and move forward to the beginning of a new adventure of our Navy tenure.
I had arrived at BC a 150 lb, 6’ 1” slender naive innocent young man, and departed a 182 lb, 6’ 1” solid built muscular warrior…or so I thought of myself. I even went out and got a tattoo on my right upper arm with the name "Ken" inside a purty little ribbon so I wouldn't forget who I am or what my name was.
Thank goodness, that's the only four dollar tattoo mistake I made in my 20 years in the Navy.
I had grown up more in 11 weeks than I ever would have had I stayed in my hometown and found a job there. I discovered myself, found out I could overcome physical conflict, verbal abuse and learned to be the better man for it. I only regret one moment of my BC experience, of which I’ve already discussed. But it made me more compassionate in many ways, knowing what part I played in all that. But I also became more tough in spirit, having more desire to become someone even better than I had been. I had more confidence in myself, knowing what I had learned in BC. Not just the military part of it, but a personal foundation that I knew I could build upon in whatever way I chose.
I was not afraid to be alone anymore, for I had ‘me’. That may sound a bit arrogant in a way, but that was not my mindset. Was I still naive? Yes, in many ways. But I had learned that one is not going to know everything about life until they experienced it, or watched someone else experience it and learn to not do it that way, or ‘to’ do it that way. It was an exciting path I was walking now, and I was PROUD of who I had become and what I had achieved.
After graduation from BC, and after two weeks leave, I returned to California to Long Beach. Somehow, I found out my CC stepped right into another company within weeks of my graduation. He was even worse, from what I was told, than when he was with us. He became more 'physical' toward his second company of recruits and would hit them, kick them, etc. What caused his downfall was; He got so mad at one recruit that he cupped his hands and slapped the recruit on both ears at the same time and broke both eardrums. There was a huge investigation, which ultimately sent the CC to a Courts Martial. He was busted down from Chief (E7) to a Second Class Petty Officer (E5) and relegated to the wood working shop at NTC until he received orders to another command. What happened to him after that, I have no idea. I was very glad to hear this, for he had absolutely no business being a CC, let alone a Chief Petty Officer.
That’s my story…and I’m sticking to it.
Ok...this story is long, but my hope is that it will bring back some memories that some of you Navy old timers can reminisce about. Maybe some of you experienced 'some' of the things I did. Possibly, some of you who never went military may enjoy my perusals and experiences of my 11 weeks of boot camp.
This story is a personal collective of what I endured during my bootcamp daze. Some of it may come across as humorous, unbelievable, ugly and triumphant. I hope for those of you who choose to read it, thoroughly enjoy my recollection of 56 years ago. Let's begin...
BOOT CAMP DAYS / SAN DIEGO
Late August - Early November 1970
I joined the Navy under a program called “The Buddy System” and under the Delayed Entry Program. We had ‘committed’ to joining prior to graduation in May 1970, then left for Boot Camp several months later, after graduation. Me and two other friends joined the Navy and were guaranteed to go through Boot Camp (BC) together. But after BC, we would be given separate orders and go our own way, on behalf of the Navy. You know what NAVY stands for, right? “Never Again Volunteer Yourself”. I learned that cliche the first day in Boot Camp.
In August of 1970, we got onboard that Westbound 747, didn’t think before deciding what I’d do, (remember that song?) that flew us all the way to San Diego, California. I recall the moment we were bussed into NTC San Diego (Naval Training Center, SD). It had already been a long day and every one of us on that bus was tired and worn out, and most likely, mentally drained from unknown anticipation of what to expect. It was around 10 PM and some dude that seemed like he was on some sort of euphoric high was screaming and yelling at us at the top of his lungs to “get off the bus now, get over there and stand on a yellow square, move, move MOVE!”
We were called worms, dirtbags, pussies, mama’s boys, little girls and oh, so much, much more. And that was just in the first five minutes of getting off the bus. Each and every one of us, I’m sure, was silently saying to ourselves; “what in the world have I done, and what have I gotten myself into?” I know I did. And some didn’t use the word “world” when they were thinking it.
All of us eventually were told to ‘hit the bunks’ around midnight in our assigned barracks. We were never so relieved to be able to SLEEP. It took no time at all to get to slumber land park. Nobody talked, nobody moved around. Snore, yes…but that was the only sound in the silence of that night. That silence seemed to only last five minutes into our much desired dreamland.
All of a sudden, there was a huge loud banging coming from one end of the barracks to the other. Then the lights came on and more yelling commenced. “Get out of your racks, you miserable worms, you lowlife scum…move, move, MOVE!” We all scrambled out of our beds and just stood there, looking at the three 35 gallon empty metal trash cans that had been thrown down the middle of our barracks room. Another screaming yell; “Get to the end of your bunk and stand at attention! Don’t you move, don’t you say one word. Don’t look around, look straight ahead.”
Well, wouldn’t you know it…SOMEBODY gawked around the room, and the person yelling saw him do it. “Oh, I see someone can’t follow direction and instructions. All right you slugs, get in the pushup position NOW!” And down we all went, at 5 AM in the morning, in the pushup position. We ended up doing 50 pushups, with some not making that 50 count mark. I had no problem doing them, thanks to my boxing training and all those bales of hay I had picked up over the years on my Uncles farms. What I had problems with was the leg lifts, where you raise your feet six inches off the floor and you had to ‘hold’ that position…not for 10 seconds, not for 15 seconds, but until you were TOLD to drop them back down. We were finally told to “pop-tall”, which we figured out meant to get back into ‘attention’ position. We were screamed and yelled at for another five minutes, then told to get dressed and form up outside on the ‘yellow squares’ in five minutes.
Outside, all lined up really ugly, because we didn’t know any better, and didn’t have a clue, we were cordially introduced to our CC (Company Commander) He was a Machinist Mate Chief (MMC) and was a Submarine sailor. I came to know these sub sailors throughout my entire Navy career, as the biggest narcissistic underwater sailors of the Navy. Well, that’s what I thought back then.
However, we were thoroughly indoctrinated and being “washed of the brain”, we were educated and convinced that his first and last name was “SIR”. That same title also went toward any of his accomplices, who ensured that the CC had eyes in the back of his head. We learned real fast that; the CC sees all. We also learned that ‘our’ company was our CC’s very first company and that ‘he’ was out to prove he was the best CC there ever was…at our expense, of course.
So began my glorious 11 week stay at SunnySide “Hotel NTC”, a five star complex located in the immense basin of the San Diego Bay Area with Company 359. It came with all the amenities one could ask for. We had all the food we could eat in ten minutes, we got to run or ‘double time’, or even ‘march walk’ everywhere we needed to be.
We slept in an ‘open’ barracks where we could look down the long row of bunks and see all 45 of our roommates lounging around in their “everyone wears the same” white boxer briefs. We had our own personal washing machine to do our laundry, which consisted of a stiff brown bristle brush, soap and all the water we needed for washing and rinsing on a concrete granite slab. We also had personal clothes dryers consisting of strings we tied to each piece of our clothing EXACTLY how we were instructed to maximize full use of the free outdoor heating element ball that was casting wonderful rays of warmth upon our drying line. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.
Our first full day, Day 1, of our Naval Expedition for Higher Learning started at the Mess Hall for breakfast at 6 AM. We even got to walk to this venue in our civilian clothes, all the while being called names and hearing ‘other’ Company slugs call out to us; “Suckers,”, or “You’ll be sorry.” We ignored them, well…because Mr. SIR told us to keep our eyes forward and our pie-holes shut. We obeyed, thinking it would keep us from more pushups or setups. Oh, we were sooooooo wrong in so many ways. So, we were told we had 10 minutes to get in, eat and get back out onto ‘the spot.’ This wasn’t such a bad thing, until you realized that; if you were one of the last to get your food, by then, you only had about 4 minutes to eat and get back to ‘the spot.’
This is where my experience of hunger, due to not eating my mothers prepared food, came in handy. As an “L” getting to the chow line, I only had about five minutes, six max, to eat and get back onto the designated yellow spot. Whoa unto all of us if just one person was late getting back. The entire company learned real quick what parts of any meal was the most nutritious to eat, so as to sustain us physically until the next meal, leave the rest, just so we could all be back on the spot on time. It was a mental game, and if you didn’t play it correctly, one would end up losing it…and many did.
We managed to get back to the barracks without any chaotic yelling or screaming, albeit, some got chewed out for not staying in a somewhat straight line. We were pretty pathetic looking. We were shown how to properly make our beds up. Proper hospital corners that should look as though you used a micrometer on them for proper angle and dangle. The top sheet had to be ‘turned down’ the exact proper measurement and width, no more, no less.
Your wool blanket the same way, with hospital corners. Your pillow had to be facing a certain way with no divot anywhere on it. We were shown this ONE TIME, then told to go make our bunks up…inspection in 15 minutes. Yeah…that didn’t go well at all. We ended up with more pushups, sit-ups and leg lift’s. All this before 7:30 AM.
At 8 AM, we were lined up at the barbers where everyone participated in getting a new hairdo called the “buzz cut”. We all nervously laughed at each other in how, in 15 minutes time, our entire persona was changed to make us look like wimpy little baldheaded mama’s girls. Oh wait, it’s okay…that’s what the SIR’S call us, so we’re good. Whew!
From the haircutting facility, we moved on to the clothing supply store where we were provide every piece of blue denim wardrobe of Naval fashion once again, white-hats (better known as the ‘dixie cup’), shoes, black socks, three pairs of white boxer briefs, shower shoes, name stencil, service number stencil and a white and black indelible ink permanent marker. We were provided a Navy designed large olive drab round canvas suitcase to put all of our wonderful newly acquired government issued attire into. It wasn’t even 10:00 AM yet and it felt as though we had already been up for twelve hours. This new life I had opted for was mentally draining. We were learning how to do 8 hours of ‘stuff’ in 3 hours. We learned that this was part of the “breaking in” week.
The first week was pretty much orientation on how to properly fold every stitch of clothing the Navy way. Right on down to exactly how your “boon-dockers” (boots) were to be staged at night. We had tall lockers where everything was stowed, and there was a specific place for each item and how it was supposed to be laid in the locker cubicles. It was stressed very firmly that; we were NOT individuals doing our own thing, but that we were a team who worked together to accomplish what needed to be done. Many recruits just couldn’t grasp this concept, which ended up costing everyone. Many times we paid the price because someone didn’t want to play nicely and decided to do things on their own…the wrong way. I was beginning to be able to ‘hold’ my legs up during the leg lift routine. My abs were getting stronger due to all the ‘wrong ways.’
We did a lot of marching…A LOT! Sometimes we were out on the huge asphalt marching field (better known as “The Grinder”) for hours because, as a group, we just were not getting it right or good enough for the CC. We learned obliques, to the rear march, marching in one direction, and when the command was given, we would conduct an ‘about face’ while moving and march the other direction. We were like a bunch of keystone cops and drew a lot of stares and laughter from other company’s who had advanced to better perfection. We learned how to start off marching on the ‘left’ foot and learned that all commands were to be activated off the left foot. After lots of setups, pushups, leg lifts, we finally began to ‘gel’ and work as a team. We became proficient at marching, but it didn’t happen overnight. It was amazing just how much calisthenics taught you to get it right.
Using our washing machines, we scrubbed our dirty clothes every day. Pants, shirt, underwear, socks and white hats. We scrubbed the sweat stains from every armpit, the dirt ring on our white hats and the brown streaks from our boxer briefs. Then we would tie strings onto each piece and hang them on our dryer line so the heat and rays from the dryer could get all the moisture out. We soon became experts at washing and drying our clothes. We would then take the water hose and wash the granite slabs down and rinse all the suds into the drain area.
Shoe shining was paramount. Daily, we had “shining” time, and you better be able to see a reflection in the toes and heels of your boon-docker shoes. It did take time to get that really nice shine, but once you achieved it, it was easy to maintain. Many guys had never worn those clod-hoppers before and received numerous blisters. Some had to go back and get resized and get either smaller or larger size shoes, along with medical attention for their blisters.
We showered every day…and Lord help the ones who decided they didn’t need to wear their shower shoes in the bathroom / shower area. It only took one time for us to learn that lesson. From then on, we policed ourselves and ensured that everyone was wearing their shower shoes. Foot infections were not a big issue, but some did have to be treated for athletes foot.
As mentioned earlier, we are mostly called “worms”, a denigrating term to help us understand that we were ‘nobody’ and that we were no longer in charge of any part of our life. A lot of it was psychological, and I was never bothered by the name calling. I was so used to being called names in my younger years by the high school jocks, I would just let it run right off my back. However, there were several who just couldn’t deal with being called names or having the CC and assistants call your mother names, swear at you, yell at you a foot away from your face, etc. They were the ones who never had it rough at home or in school…or just plain life.
These were the ones who were loved the way one should be loved in a home environment, and to be subjected to such harsh words and having some dude say something about your mother…well, it was just too much for them. Many of us, including me, tried to talk to our ‘shipmates’ and tell them it was all psychological and a tactical means to get you broken down to a point where they then, would build you back up. Some understood this concept, others, not so much.
By the third week of boot camp, we lost at least five recruits who just couldn’t handle it anymore and allowed their spirit to be broken to the point of no return. They didn’t commit suicide or anything, they just gave up and were eventually placed in a ‘transfer’ barracks and administratively discharged and sent home. They ‘washed out’ so to speak. I fully understood that BC was all about breaking ones will, getting rid of their old way of thinking and being molded into the military way of thinking and doing things. Once everyone learned to accept this new mind bending modification of their lives, they realized things tended to ‘click’ a lot better and BC life ran a lot smoother. It was getting to that point that was hard, really hard for some.
Inspections by the CC were daily. If it wasn’t an inspection of our bunks, then it was an inspection of our lockers. Sometimes, both. One of the most devastating moments of BC for me was when we had gone to the mess hall to eat. It was probably around our fourth week. That day, when we returned from eating, we all walked into the barracks and saw what looked like a tornado had just plowed through, twisting and turning and throwing things halter skelter. Every bunk was overturned, every blanket, sheet, pillow and mattress was thrown everywhere.
Everyone’s locker had been tipped over, every piece of clothing in each locker had been tossed to and fro. Every recruits clothes were mixed up with everyone else’s. The entire barracks was a DISASTER. Some began crying, others moaned in disbelief…I had tears in my eyes and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I remember this reality like it was yesterday…yes, 56 years ago. No one knew why our CC and his personal commrads had done this…BUT, we found out why.
He had come in while we were out and conducted a ‘surprise’ inspection. He kept finding something wrong in each locker he inspected, or something wrong with a bunk. After inspecting a dozen and kept finding things wrong, like improperly folded clothes, a hospital corner out of whack or a pillow not aligned just right, he went totally berserk, went into a rage and did what our eyes were seeing.
He had us at attention and yelled, screamed, cursed, spit and taunted us with a beet red face for 30 minutes. He was so red in the face I thought he was going to stroke out. Every time he said something, spittle would fly from his mouth and his anger was so great he would fumble his words because of his self-made adrenaline rush of rage. It was that day that I realized this man is NOT right. I became scared of him, and at that moment, I told my self that I would NEVER trust this man again. I would feign respect, I would do as I was told, but I would never hold any respect for this man ever, no matter how he changed. What he did to us that day destroyed everyone one of our psyche and confidence. He practically broke each and every one’s spirit that day. Many of the young men in our company never did get over that, even though, somehow, each of us came out of that chaotic event stronger individuals.
When he was done with his personal tirade against us, he told us we had one hour to get this “fu***ing” mess cleaned and ready for another inspection…and shouted; ”AND IT BETTER BE RIGHT!”.
I don’t know how in the world we did it, but we worked fast and furious, like a well oiled machine, and sorted out everyone’s clothes (they were all marked by name…remember the stencils?). Everyone was handing everyone else pieces of clothing, while some were picking up the lockers and putting them back in place, along with the bunks.
When someone finished getting their locker or bunk squared away, they would go and assist some of the slower ones who were still in shock over this episode. Some were even still emotional with tears. I mentally worked through it all and decided right then and there that I was going to come through this unscathed.
We pep-talked each other, encouraged each other, praised each other. That day we BECAME MEN! And it had absolutely NOTHING to do with our CC or his assistants. It was like a mysterious invisible thing that swept over the entire room and touched everyone at the same exact time. Whether it was an internal strength of calm, a psychological enhanced attitude or an emotionally sustained temperament, it’s hard to convey or put into words. All we knew was; this was a huge life changing episode in all of our lives.
It’s funny how vividly I remember that episode so many years ago. There are a lot of things that occurred at BC that I don’t remember or recall in detail, but that is one of them. I’ve never harbored any long term animosity toward that CC, for in the long run, he got his…and I’ll tell you about that soon enough.
After that tornado event, our entire company became ‘tight’. We worked together, we marched with pride and determination. We called out our cadence with authority, and every other company knew who Company 359 was. We began winning awards for our company, which made our CC very happy. It helped to change his disposition toward us in certain ways. However, he was still as egotistical and overcome with his own personal narcissistic pride as he was since day 1 of our BC adventure. And the sad thing was; he actually thought his actions were the reason we changed. Oh, how wrong he was.
Me and a black guy were made “Sergeant at Arms” for our Company. We were tasked with ensuring everyone was squared away. I was never around black people before BC, so this was a whole new experience for me. Him and I became close friends, and we had nicknames for each other. I called him “Chocolate Drop” and he called me “Marshmallow”. We laughed and joked about that every day. There was NEVER anything racist about our attitude toward each other. We were the Oreo dudes of the Company and gained a lot of respect from the others.
We had one kid, and I mean ‘kid’ in our Company who was a total consistent screwup. He couldn’t do anything right. Actually, he would screwup on purpose because he didn’t want to be there anymore, so he thought that would get him sent home. All his attitude did was cause the entire platoon to pay for his antics and mindset. Our CC didn’t quite see it the way the kid did, so me and another very large recruit were tasked with “getting him in line” and straightened out.
Little did we know or fully understand was; he was already too far gone mentally. We gave him ‘blanket party’, which is where we would wait until he was asleep at night, then three or four of us would sneak up on him, pull his blanket over his head, hold him down so he couldn’t see who was doing what to him. We would then strike away at him with bars of soap wrapped up in our T-shirt. We hit him about a dozen times, then dispersed. Then the guy who held the blanket over his head would let him go and rush back to his bunk. By then, everyone in the barracks was awake and looking at our victim. He just laid in his bunk, cried loudly and yell and scream that he wanted to go home.
Allegedly, this tactic had been used before in other Company’s and worked. It didn’t work for this kid. He got worse. The CC was not pleased that the tactic didn’t work, so he told me and the big guy to do what we needed to do to get him straight. So, the next night, me and the big dude took him into the bathroom area and verbally chastised him and told him he better man up. All this kid would do is wail at the top of his lungs, scream, cry and curse us.
He stripped down naked and went and sat on the toilet and just went absolutely emotionally crazy. It was then we fully realized this kid was ‘lost’ inside. I pitied him, felt sorry for him and regretted my part in exacerbating his mental state. This kid was a mental case. We knew we had to contact the CC about this, which we did. When he got there, he made some calls, after witnessing what this kid was doing. He too knew the kid was a lost cause. The medical team on base came and picked this kid up and took him to the psych ward at the base hospital. We never saw him again. We were eventually told he was sent home after a long medical evaluation.
Did I feel guilty about what we put this kid through? Yes, to some extent, and I’m not proud of my actions of that day. I wished I hadn’t been a participating member in enhancing his mental state to the point it got to. However, I (we) also knew that no matter what, this kid would have ended up just as bad, if not worse if we hadn’t tried to ‘get him straight’. Were the wrong tactics used on him. Yes, I believe they were. In hindsight, this kid should have been removed from the Company long before he was. He just wasn’t cut out for military life. Me and the big guy also came to the conclusion that; the CC had ‘used’ us to do his dirty work, and we agreed that we would never do that again against one of our own. If I focus on that event hard enough, I can still hear this kid’s deep anguished cry, his wailing, his turmoil and broken spirit.
To this day, and over the many years since, I have often wondered whatever became of that young man. What kind of life did he lead after that traumatic experience. Did he become a model citizen, or did he become a rebel of society where he robbed, raped and killed people? Did he become someone worse than that, because of “me?” Maybe some day it will be revealed to me, because my spirit was torn that day too. Years later, I would ask for forgiveness to my Lord for my actions of that day.
So, we completed our fifth week on our side of NTC. There were two sides to BC at NTC. The first five weeks were on “Worm Island”…hence, us worms. The ‘advanced side’ was called “Squirrel Island”. And so, we moved on to the advanced side of BC and became ‘squirrels’. This side of BC was a lot more easy going, but that depended on one’s personal perspective. Our CC didn’t let up on us, and in a lot of ways, became more demanding of us to perform even better, for now we were supposed to be on the elite side of BC. We were issued our “Ice Cream” uniforms (our Working Whites and Dress Whites), along with our Dress Blues and Working Blues. We still wore our dungaree uniforms with the bell-bottom pants and the denim long and short sleeve shirts, depending on the weather.
The advanced side was more of a classroom environment where we were taught by paper, video, and lectures on how to wear an OBA (Oxygen Breathing Apparatus) for use during fire fighting training. We were taught how to use the Sound Powered Phones, the Phonetic Alphabet, proper speaking phrases, etc.
One of the exercises everyone went through was; There would be a line of about 20 of us seated in a row. At one end, an instructor would give the first person a statement that consisted of at least 20 words. He was given the statement no more than twice. When he was ready, he had to quietly repeat that phrase to the person next to him. Then that person had to repeat everything he had just been verbally provided to the person next to him…and so on down the line until it got to the last person.
The last person would recite what he had been given to an instructor, who wrote down exactly what the last recruit had told him. Then the first instructor who initiated the phrase read it out loud to everyone. The other instructor would then read out loud exactly what the last person in line had told him. The premise of this exercise was to bring out the reality of how distorted a message could and did become after relaying it through 20 people.
It was comical in a way and provided a good ‘laugh’, but the lesson really brought home the importance of focusing on repeating exactly what was initially stated. Our 20 word phrase ended up being a total of only six words at the end.
As a side note: The word “repeat” is NEVER used in all four branches of the military. It sounds too much like “retreat”. And yes, due to an incident during war time, I believe in WWII, the word “repeat” was used, and the troops thought “retreat” was used, so they retreated and lost that particular battle. Throughout the military, specific jargon is used, and the word “repeat” can mean several different interpretations, depending on the situation at hand. This is why, since then, the phrase; “SAY AGAIN” or “I SAY AGAIN” is used if something needs to be repeated.
We spent two days at the fire fighting class. One day in the classroom, the other day out on the firefighting range putting out actual fires. It was intense and got one’s adrenaline flowing. But we just learned the basics in BC, nothing advanced. That came later on once you were assigned shipboard duty. We learned about shipboard flooding and the basics on what to do to control it by ‘shoring up’ bulkheads (walls) and plugging holes and stopping leaking pipes. Again, this was something one learned more about once assigned to a ship.
I don’t recall a lot of what we went through on the advanced side. Probably due to not having to contend with CC drama, wrecked barracks and such. There is one incident that I do recall that has stuck with me over the years.
We were given non-firing M-14 rifles to learn how to disassemble and reassemble. We all became very adept at doing that. However, please don’t ask me how to do it now, for its been a while. Anyway…we had to learn what is called the “9-count manual” and the “16-count manual”. These were specific moves of the rifle from one position to the next. The 9-count was pretty simple to learn, but the 16-count was a bit more difficult. If interested about this, you can type this into YouTube and watch videos of military personal going through the moves.
One day, our CC had us out on the ‘grinder’ with our rifles to practice our counts. This was an event where he once again showed his arrogance toward us and invited some ‘other’ recruits who were in their 8th or 9th week of BC and were no better than us, to assist in making ‘corrections’ with anyone who wasn’t doing the counts properly. These three or four arrogant dudes would see one of us struggling to do a count right, and instead of actually helping us, these wanna-be thugs would scream and yell at us to “do it right, or else” crap.
Well, yelling wasn’t good enough for them, so they started getting physical toward us, then threatening. I was working my 16-count and I didn’t bring the rifle up to ‘right shoulder arms’ position correctly, and this dude walked up on my blind side and hit the side of my rifle hard, which knocked it into the side of my head. This angered me, and I’m thinking, “what the hell’. I looked at him, and this dude interpreted my look as a challenge. He then began berating me, yelling and screaming and asking me if I wanted to hit him. I was so angry, I had the beginning of rage tears streaming down my face. The dude then interpreted this as me being ‘weak’, so he started calling me a mama’s boy and a little pussy. I ignored him and looked straight ahead, for I knew I was not going to win this battle.
I made eye contact with my CC, thinking, “surely he isn’t going to allow this type of behavior toward his recruits.” Ummm…yep, he sure was. He looked at me and had a smirk on his face, almost laughing. Remember that respect I had lost for him? Yeah, I lost a whole ton more. Finally, I got the count and procedure correct and the dude walked off and left me alone. But I was not the only victim of their egotistical sadistic attitudes. We all wanted to ‘meet them’ after leaving BC to see how tough they would be then. Anyway…we all survived that and moved on to whatever was next.
Later on, I realized these ‘other’ shipmates were only doing what they had been told to do. They were given “authority” over us and they took open liberty with that authority. I realized that; their actions were no different than mine when the CC had given me the “authority” to ‘straighten out’ the kid back on worm island. These guys were being used too, against those of us who were several weeks behind in out tour of BC.
Finally, some time in November of 1970, we came to the end of our BC tour of duty. Graduation day was here and we were all decked out in our Dress Blues. We were not the only Company graduating that day. There were about 15 other Company’s who started the same time we did. The Parade Grounds was huge, bleachers set up and were filled with recruit’s parents, grandparents and loved ones. I had no one, which was okay by me. I had all the other guys I survived 11 weeks with, for the next 24 hours, before we all departed our own way to meet the wild blue yonder, the rolling waves and following seas and move forward to the beginning of a new adventure of our Navy tenure.
I had arrived at BC a 150 lb, 6’ 1” slender naive innocent young man, and departed a 182 lb, 6’ 1” solid built muscular warrior…or so I thought of myself. I even went out and got a tattoo on my right upper arm with the name "Ken" inside a purty little ribbon so I wouldn't forget who I am or what my name was.
Thank goodness, that's the only four dollar tattoo mistake I made in my 20 years in the Navy.I had grown up more in 11 weeks than I ever would have had I stayed in my hometown and found a job there. I discovered myself, found out I could overcome physical conflict, verbal abuse and learned to be the better man for it. I only regret one moment of my BC experience, of which I’ve already discussed. But it made me more compassionate in many ways, knowing what part I played in all that. But I also became more tough in spirit, having more desire to become someone even better than I had been. I had more confidence in myself, knowing what I had learned in BC. Not just the military part of it, but a personal foundation that I knew I could build upon in whatever way I chose.
I was not afraid to be alone anymore, for I had ‘me’. That may sound a bit arrogant in a way, but that was not my mindset. Was I still naive? Yes, in many ways. But I had learned that one is not going to know everything about life until they experienced it, or watched someone else experience it and learn to not do it that way, or ‘to’ do it that way. It was an exciting path I was walking now, and I was PROUD of who I had become and what I had achieved.
After graduation from BC, and after two weeks leave, I returned to California to Long Beach. Somehow, I found out my CC stepped right into another company within weeks of my graduation. He was even worse, from what I was told, than when he was with us. He became more 'physical' toward his second company of recruits and would hit them, kick them, etc. What caused his downfall was; He got so mad at one recruit that he cupped his hands and slapped the recruit on both ears at the same time and broke both eardrums. There was a huge investigation, which ultimately sent the CC to a Courts Martial. He was busted down from Chief (E7) to a Second Class Petty Officer (E5) and relegated to the wood working shop at NTC until he received orders to another command. What happened to him after that, I have no idea. I was very glad to hear this, for he had absolutely no business being a CC, let alone a Chief Petty Officer.
That’s my story…and I’m sticking to it.