An Ordinary Love - Chapter Three

They called them gigs. They were like demerits. If you got gigged for something, well, you were screwed. There was no such thing as a small gig. A first offense - a first gig - would earn you a trip to the Marching Party. This was a lounge filled with 80's music, beer, and hot women - NOT! It was a giant macadam filled with other offenders doing incredibly harsh aerobic exercise under the watchful eyes of disgruntled Navy SEALS. It was designed to make you feel pain for about two hours. To add insult to injury, you were not allowed to shower afterwards. By the time you received your third gig, however, you went straight to the Short Tour. The short tour was two hours of intense drilling with a 30lb drill rifle. If that doesn't sound tough, imagine doing 800 jumping jacks while holding the 30 pound rifle over your head. After that, the only remaining remedial punishment was called Vietnam. This was the Short Tour in full gear (Jacket, Belt, Combat Boots, etc...) in a stuffy room with all the windows and doors closed - in San Diego - in the summer. These were the remedial punishments. After that there was the social punishment - washing out. If you washed out, you didn't get to go home. Instead, you were sent backwards to another unit to repeat the same week of boot camp that you'd just finished. Not only would you add a week of time to your boot camp stay, but you'd also lose all of your friends, and furthermore be classified as a screw up by your new shipmates. Of all the punishments, it was the one everyone wanted to avoid the most. Beyond that, there were things known as administrative dismissals - you get out of the Navy, but you can never get back in - EVER! And the whole slew of UCMJ punishments (Universal Code of Military Justice) like prison time and Bad Conduct Discharges that would basically screw up your life. We learned all of this stuff early on because fear was the number one deterrent in the first couple of weeks of boot camp and considering what we were about to go through, it was good to be scared of the alternatives.

That first morning we stood in front of the temporary barracks for about half an hour as we tried to line up by height at 3:30 in the morning. Its dark out at 3:30am and its not really the best time to make social introductions. I stood next to a nameless face to the left and right of me judging them only by their so called height. I was on the relatively tall end of the spectrum. Once we were lined up, they formed us into ranks - four abreast - and then they posted sailors on all sides of us and told us to march.

If you've never seen a group of 80 guys march on their first day of boot camp, its kind of a funny site. As a group you look like a drunken centipede with a nervous tick. We marched down the road and across a bridge. Up ahead was a giant open space - like the parking lot at a football stadium. We could see that other groups of boot campers were lining up in similar fashion. We marched up near the front and then stopped. The sailors started yelling at us, "Tighten up there, Nuttobutt, nuttobutt!" It was the first Navy word I would learn. Nut to Butt, as it so colorfully describes, was a admonition to stand so close to the person in front of you that it was almost pornographic. But that was okay, because the guy behind you did the same. It wasn't a very comfortable way to stand, but it was warm. As there were no trees and as it was almost four in the morning, it was rather cool in San Diego. What I didn't realize as I squeezed close enough to my neighbor that I could have felt him break wind, was that we were going to be standing there for a long time. How long?

The Boot Camp system for serving chow is rather unique. It basically works by inverse logic. Those who are still relatively new to boot camp arrive first. Those who have been at boot camp arrive last. The last unit to arrive eats first - unless there is some special requirement that requires units to eat earlier. Though we arrived at the parade ground at 4:00am, we didn't get in line for breakfast until 6:00am. We were at the back of the line.

As we finally made our way into the chow hall, many recruits looked up at us - some with shock, some with humor, but most with compassion. "Don't worry, man. If I made it, you can make it." We just stared ahead in shock. When we finally reached the food line, we grabbed trays and were pushed through quickly. I don't normally eat breakfast. And, after standing in line for three hours, I wasn't really feeling all that hungry at that moment. I grabbed a piece of toast and some bacon. Which was just as well because almost as soon as I sat down, I was being told that it was time to leave. I think I must have given them a look of disbelief because they reitterated the importance of my moving. Three hours in line to sit down for approximately 45 seconds. I stood up, crammed the toast in my mouth, and hurried to catch up to the rest of my unit.

We marched back to the temporary barracks and stood out front in the courtyard again. Our names were called and we were told to do something - I couldn't hear what they said. You see, I hadn't noticed this during the darkness, but now that the light was coming up and I was beginning to see around the place I had come to realize that we were quite close to the San Diego International Airport. Every couple of minutes a plane would go roaring overhead. I did hear my name called and when something else was said and I saw everyone scrambling, I went scrambling too. We went back inside the temporary barracks and got our things and then we ran back outside and got back in line.

When I came back, there was a new man at the front of the large group. All those whose names hadn't been called were gone - I don't know where. The man introduced himself, but again I couldn't hear. He was a normal sized man - not incredibly buff or tough looking. He looked cunning, like a basketball coach or something, not dangerous like a linebacker coach. He introduced another man - Philipino, for sure - who looked at us like he was the head guard at a maximum security prison. Together the two men formed us into lines again and off we marched.

As it turned out, we headed to our barracks - the first barracks in the first division of boot camp. We were Company 101 and our Chief Instructor was CPO Hill and his assistant was CPO Perez. We were sent into the barracks in some sort of order and told to select our racks (bunk beds). I chose one in the corner farthest from the door. My bunk mate was a kid named Dietz. He was from Ohio. Though I knew I'd heard Ron's name called, I hadn't seen him. In five minutes, we reported back outside with our seabags and marched back the way we'd just come.

It hadn't even reached 7am yet. By the time lunch rolled around, we had been shorn, clothed, and ID'd. We had even started stenciling our name and last four digits into all of our clothes - yes, even socks and underwear. Our seabags were left behind as we formed into a slightly less discombobulated column and headed to lunch.

Again, we waited nuttobutt. Again we slammed something edible into our mouths before we were rushed out the door. We continued stenciling our names into everything we owned after lunch. And then, we went back to our barracks for a little siesta, some margaritas and... Nah, just kidding.

We were each given notebooks. But these notebooks were not meant for doodling. They were a first line defense in the war. We were to use them to carry communications, passes, and our orders wherever we went. We sat down in the barracks on the main floor and Chief Hill started reciting the 10 Standing Orders. We were told to write them down and to not deviate from the spelling or grammar. We were encouraged to memorize them as we might be asked at any time by any one to recite any of the standing orders. If we did not know the orders, we would be gigged.

He then went on to explain the entire method of indoctrination into the military. In the first two weeks, you need to break down the recruit into nothing - absolutely nothing. It was done by sleep deprivation, lack of food, heavy physical and mental stress, and fear. Lots and lots of fear. Anything we did wrong could not only get us gigged, but one day, in the real world, it could get our shipmates killed. Even as I sat there that first day, I had no thought - no memory even - of the real world. My entire existence was in that little room.

Eventually, the day came to an end. I don't remember getting much more done other than learning to fold and put away our clothes, make our beds, and clean the entire barracks top to bottom in the space of about twenty minutes (80 people a day, every day, for forty years - there wasn't a whole lot of dirt to clean anyway). We got about a minute for a shower at night crowded twenty naked guys deep in a small shower room with luke warm water. Then finally, we crawled into our racks and turned off the lights. It was 7:30pm. I never slept deeper.

At 3:40am, the sentries turned on the lights and ordered us out of bed - and the whole process started all over again.