FT. ORD BLUES

Neil Simon wrote a hilarious screenplay about his Army Basic Training in Biloxi, MS. It appeared as a movie called 'Biloxi Blues' and did very well at the box office. Every person who has served in the U.S. military remembers Basic Training. As a draftee, I was inducted at the age of 22 and sent to Ft. Ord, CA. for eight weeks of training designed to turn me into an infantryman. I hated the Army. The government had yanked me out of a good-paying job as a radio announcer in Phoenix, AZ. and replaced it with a $98 per month position as a private. Overnight I changed from civilian to military status, lost most of my rights, and was required to salute any person who had bars. My company consisted of 250 men assigned to barracks on the spacious Ft. Ord campgrounds. Our company's CEO was a veteran sergeant named Earll. He wore crisp Army fatigues, brilliantly polished black boots, a military crewcut, and rarely smiled. The first words he said to my company as we stood at rigid attention in our shorts and tee-shirts were, 'Forget your parents. For the next eight weeks, you belong to me.' Our days began at 6 a.m. when we snapped to attention and gathered on the parade grounds for roll call. Then we marched to chow. For the next eight hours, we did situps, pushups, running, marching, jumping jacks, and more pushups. We interrupted our training for a noon lunch; then it was back to the training that would change us from a civilian screw up into a soldier. Sgt. Earll's words. Not mine. Evenings were spent in the Day Room where we sat around tables playing ping pong, pool, poker, and blackjack. It didn't matter if you were broke. The non-commissioned officers running the games would let you play for payday stakes. But on payday, they were standing at the head of the line next to the Quartermaster, waiting to collect what was due. Our Master Sergeant was a 20-year veteran who had served in Korea. He was a blunt lifter who planned to stay in the Army for 30 years and he knew all the angles. One day he called me aside and asked me to come into his office. 'Do you like steak?' he said. I admitted I surely did. 'I know you're a poker player,' he continued. 'I've seen you in the Day Room. How'd you like to have a free steak dinner every Saturday and make some money on the side?' I was all ears. It seemed the sergeant was working with an insurance company in town that sold policies to soldiers. All I had to do to earn $5 per recruit was to talk them into accompanying me to the insurance agent's office every Saturday. He would give them a sales pitch and then a ticket for a free steak dinner at a nearby restaurant. 'Think you can handle that?' the sergeant said. 'No problem, Sergeant,' I declared. Each Saturday for the next seven weeks, I gathered a group of recruits, told them about the steak dinners, and we went into town. I earned some decent money with my recruiting and the sergeant was pleased with my work. He even sat in on some of the poker playing sessions. At the end of eight weeks, I graduated from Basic Training and was assigned to Ft. MacArthur to join a NORAD -- North American Air Defense Command -- detachment. From there I was re-assigned to Site 04, the highest Nike-Hercules missile site in the Continental United States, where I spent my remaining 19 months as a radar technician. On the day I was scheduled to depart for Ft. MacArthur in San Pedro, CA., Sgt. Earll and my Master Sergeant walked into the barracks. Earll stuck out his hand. 'Congratulations, Lawrenzi,' he said. 'There were moments I had doubts about you, but you surprised all of us and made it.' The Master Sergeant smiled. 'He's a better poker player than he is a soldier. Good luck, Son.' They turned and walked away.