Basic Training And
The Accidental Pink Underwear
Fort Dix, New Jersey
March 1966
A True Story
Copyright 2011
Smashwords Edition
Revised September-2,-2011 for font, font size, spelling corrections and paragraph style.
A lot of what I write about is the everyday experiences that evoke nostalgia from when I was a kid or when I was in the Army. I think everyone has a story or two they would like to tell but don’t know how to go about it. I have always wanted to write a book ever since I was in Vietnam in 1968 - and even created a daily diary and now I have the pleasure of it being a Smashwords e-book featured at Barnes and Noble.
This story comes from my memory bank and is about basic training at Fort Dix, New Jersey beginning on March 6, 1966. That was the day we said goodbye to “mommy” and boarded a bus for Dix. I remember it being a particularly cold New England winter day standing with a number of other inductees outside the recruiting station in Springfield, Mass where we had recently taken our oath of enlistment.
I was 19 years old, weighed 124 pounds (wet) and apprehensive about what lie ahead. My dad was a drummer in The Korean War. He was stationed stateside and played for all the dignitaries and even charmed Truman at The White House at a state dinner. As the story was told to me, he and 8 other musicians were invited to play for some “far beyond rich” King - probably some oil rich oil baron. They were practicing in a side room near where they were to perform when President Truman walked in on them and asked if they had eaten yet.
Truman was a man of great character and always treated the military people with utmost respect. When they mentioned they had been given cheese and crackers, Truman marched into the kitchen in the middle of the chefs preparing the gala dinner and pulled one cook off the production line and ordered him to cook up 9 sirloin steaks with all the trimmings. The chefs were disgusted that they would have to be taken from their appointed duties just to feed the common men. My dad went on to say that the chef reacted indignantly, but after a presidential ass chewing Truman prevailed and dad and his ensemble were grateful to The President who also had taken time to be photographed with each man separately then as a group.
* * *
We departed Springfield, somewhere around 5:00 PM and arrived at a dinner stop in New York City. I wouldn’t exactly call it dinner, but we stopped at a dive of a night club for approximately an hour and were offered some of that awful munchy bar food that goes along with drinks. I remember the smoke filled joint and about 50 of us - all green behind the ears gawking in amazement at the performers who looked like old ladies well past their prime. We found out later that we were in a transvestite bar and some of the performers were men in drag.
Before leaving Massachusetts I went into a convenience store and purchased of all things - a bad of lemon drops. Why lemon drops? Beats me! I was wearing what we call a car coat, it was bulky and had 4 huge flap pockets. We arrived at Dix somewhere around 10:30 at night. This was unusual as most recruits arrived during the day when they could harass the hell out of you. However, the Vietnam war was gearing up and the military was making as much progress as possible to get us in and out.
None of us had endured the military style “shave it all off” hair cuts - that would come in the morning. The trim and lean black drill sergeant mean as a rattle snake in a bag assembled us in formation and carried what resembled a riding crop and whenever he saw a bulging pocket he would whack the pocket and ask you to remove its contents. As he approached I knew that bulge in my coat pocket was going to be his ammunition. He swiftly slapped my pocket with the baton and asked me to remove the contents.
“Oh! You nothing but a mamma’s boy - and she packed you some dessert! Well BOY, you gonna’ eat all of em’ while the rest of us watch - so start suckin!”
Not only was I forced to eat the contents of the bag, but I had to cram as many into my mouth as possible with cheeks protruding like those of a squirrel packing away acorns. Finally after munching down the sour hard balls the sergeant moved onto the next victim and so on. After about 30 minutes of standing in the freezing cold we were herded into a building where we were to spend the night.
It was sometime around midnight when we were allowed sleep, and had no idea we were to be awakened at 0500. The army is methodical and systematic in its approach. This was the first day of many to follow where the army stripped away your dignity in an attempt make all of us confirm to their way of thinking.
Breakfast was nowhere near what we were used to as civilians. I remember this one recruit asking for his eggs “slightly” over easy. With lightening speed, the private on the serving line slammed a ladel of scrambled eggs (made with powder) down onto the guy’s plate of which half splattered onto him, me and the floor. “There’s your eggs “slightly” over easy!”
After breakfast came the dreaded haircut. With many of us wearing our hair to imitate The Beatles, in the Army there was no choice of style. With a line of men as long as a city block - it was into the barber’s chair and within 30 seconds we were “sheep shorn” and another step closer to “you’re in the Army now!” Next came the handing out of uniforms. The Army is really good at approximating a person’s size and as you walked through the supply line - the familiar odor of mothballs filled the building. Everything was olive drab with the exception of the white underwear and T-shirts. With a fifty pound arm full of clothing and boots, we then headed for the dressing rooms. By the time several hundred of us reached the opposite end of the building we still weren’t soldiers, but at least our appearance would cause one to think so.
The year was 1966. LBJ was President, Hubert Humphrey was VP, population was 196,000,000 as opposed to over 300,000,000 today. Cost of an average home was $23,000, a new car $2,500, stamp $.05, gas $.32, eggs $.60, milk $.99. Apollo astronauts Grissom, Chaffee and White were killed in a training accident. California Dreaming by The Mamma and Pappa’s was in the top 10. Hogan’s Heroes and Lawrence Welk were the TV sensations of that year. Cassius Clay changed his name to Muhammad Ali.
Following the issuing of uniforms, we were assigned to one of the newer building and I was to be in Oscar Company. Traditionally, there were four men to a room but for some reason the room I was in had only three. The fourth bunk was but a steel frame just waiting for another recruit.
Inspections were on Friday’s conducted by a second lieutenant - usually an eager, pompous arrogant just out of ROTC greenhorn. Under each bunk was a wooden chest where we stored our supplies: extra belt buckles, shoe polish, Brasso, writing paper, and various assorted items. Each wooden chest had to have these items placed in the exact same place or the lieutenant would cite you for not following military procedure. It was chicken shit at its best, but what did we know, we were obliged to follow orders.
When it came time to inspect our bunks there is a lot of truth to the story that a quarter had to bounce when dropped on the bed. This second “louie” not any older than I, had a lot of authority. He even had an entourage of intimidating looking corporal’s and sergeants to assist in carrying out of his demands. If your bunk did not pass his rigid inspection it was torn apart and you proceeded to do it to his satisfaction. Our room passed and therefore we were not subjected to any further harassment.
At the half way point in our basic training we were allowed a weekend pass from noon on Saturday to 10:00 PM on Sunday night. It was our first taste of civilian freedom and I was not going to travel to my home in Massachusetts. The two others in my room and I decided to spend the evening at McGuire, AFB adjoining our training center and return to our barracks - and within walking distance.
I have absolutely no recollection as to why, once dressed in my civilian clothes I wore a red bandanna tied around my neck. It must have been something I got a glimpse of from a TV show, but none the less, at the time I thought it was cool.
Now, I must tell you that I am left handed and early on in my training when in formation, the drill sergeant from his five foot high podium or perch was able to immediately observe, identify, and pick out those who were not carrying their rifle according to rules of proper procedure which is written for right handed people. It didn’t take long for “we” left hander’s to make the needed correction. I adapted immediately and had no problems from the first week forward. There was punishment for not complying with the proper way of doing things, although it may only have been “drop and give me 10”. The drill sergeant was particularity harsh on left handed people which also caused many to begin marching on their right and not their left foot which is the foot everyone steps forward first. “Yo’ left! Yo’ left! Yo’ left right left,” and so on. The Army could not allow anyone to deviate from their routine of everything being performed by utilizing one method.
In the basement of our billets were two automatic washing machines and dryers. Each week, we would take turns washing the civilian clothes along with the white Army issue underwear, T-shirts and socks. As the time became closer to graduation, we were allowed more liberty passes. On this particular weekend, once again, I wore that “cool” red scarf with my Chinos and golf shirt.
Upon an early return on Sunday afternoon, it was my turn to wash clothes for those of us in our room. I threw all the white underwear and T-shirts along with the red bandanna into the washer. When the final spin cycle had finished and I opened the door, all garments were pink in color. I failed to realize that the red scarf had never been washed. This only amounted to about 2 sets of T-shirts and underwear for each of us, and although it brought a laugh, the other two in the room didn’t have a problem with the event. They had other white T-shirts as did I. The underwear however was a different matter. We decided to wear the pink tinged underwear as there would be no occasion to undress in public.
* * *
Standing in formation on a cold windy March morning, the drill sergeant was refining some of our maneuvers when for some reason, I instinctively placed my rifle on the wrong shoulder - and he immediately called me on the error. It was a trip up to his level on the platform where I was humiliated as a “mamma’s boy, meat head, low life”, among other adjectives. It was a one in million shot and something which could not have been scripted when the sergeant shouted for all to hear that as a “mamma’s boy and a left handed person, I probably had pink panties on as well!”
I was demoralized when he ordered me to drop my pants - and in one of the most embarrassing occurrences of my life, with my face staring at the floor and my ass staring the sergeant in the face and for all the recruits to see - I was wearing pink underwear! For that misfortune I had to endure two dozen push-ups. I was sent back to my room where amidst the humiliation of walking through the ranks I changed into the traditional white standard military issue skivvies.
This is a true story - one which as the years pass gets more humorous. I have included a number of FREE short stories which is an accounting of my life. To many it is not important and to others it is comical and worthy of sharing. In some way it is saying what so many of you have also experienced and would like to share it with others.
I also have two full length novels published by Smashwords and it is my desire that if you like the content of some of the free downloads you will be inclined to sample either of the two books I am offering at an incredible price of only $1.99 - Orphans Of The Mourning and Murder In Ogunquit. It has taken me from my discharge in 1970 to present day to put my first novel Orphans Of The Mourning together. I hope you have the opportunity to enjoy my work.
This is not a commercial for Smashwords, but I do find their venue the BEST I have ever had the pleasure of being involved with and the experience is priceless. It would be virtually impossible for me to self publish a paper back or hard cover book which was the only option until Smashwords was developed.
For me, the primary reason for not publishing an actual book is the astronomical cost - into the tens of thousands of dollars - and then to hawk it at book signings which was not going to happen - and ultimately in the end you would be selling your book for anywhere from $2.00 to $3.00 on the various overstock book tables and it would have cost me about $10.00 to $20.00 per book depending on the quantity ordered.
I would also like to request a comment if you liked this short story. When readers write a review it goes a long way in assisting new authors. Thank you again.
Bob