I'M IN THE ARMY NOW

Part One

 It was 1968 and the world was in turmoil from the Vietnam war. I was in college and very aware of the protests, the rallies, the killings. I prayed for those involved but that was about the extent of my concern about a war I didn't understand. Sure, I worried about the draft calling me up, but I was a student. It just wasn't something I thought would affect me directly. I couldn't see myself in the military and doing all those macho things, besides, I was not the outdoors type that loved living in tents and shooting weapons. I didn't even hunt or fish, for goodness sake. I never considered myself as the soldier type. I would be a horrible, reluctant soldier. I even briefly, (very, very, briefly) toyed with moving to Canada if Uncle Sam called me.

I was a carefree college student, doing back flips, being a school mascot when it happened. I was drafted, or about to be. Mrs. Valentine, a friend of my daddy's, and in charge of the local draft board, called. “Nippy”, she said, “I can't hold you back any longer. I just have to send your draft notice. It will mean, without a doubt that you will be doing combat in Vietnam if you're drafted. I will give you a week to seek a branch of service before I send your notice out. I'm sorry.” What a blow. I prayed about it and asked the Lord to help me get through this period of my life and keep me safe if it was his will for me to go. I searched around unable to find anything to my satisfaction. Eventually, I returned to the Army recruiter. He noticed I was an art major and suggested photography lab work. I joined the army and prepared to quit college. At the end, Canada was not an option, I could not do that to my family or my country.

My basic training was at Fort Polk.

This was tough. I had never exercised so much in my life and I was not a jogger. God made me to do back flips and gymnastic stuff, and draw pretty pictures, not all this hand to hand combat, running at each other yelling at the top of our voices, practicing shooting and throwing grenades. I was not the macho type.

 I hated long walks in heavy boots or crawling on my belly like a reptile.

 

 I hated standing in formation while the drill Sargent shouted at me to straighten up, his mouth so close to mine that I could see his fillings.

 Thank goodness I was a morning person and used to waking early, this helped some. I was also somewhat of a clean freak and had no trouble keeping my bunk blanket so tight a quarter could bounce off it. But I hated having to sleep in an open area with lots of other people that were so completely different than me; the guys who stayed up late and gambled and cursed and were scary - the guys who woke you from your sleep threatening you, like the creepy guy above me who thought people were out to get him...thankfully he was discharged quickly. 

 I liked my sleep and long hours cleaning the barracks for an inspection was NOT my thing. 

 I remember, once, hiding in a stand up locker and scrunching down inside sleeping, my head resting on my left knee with my right leg squeezed above my head, while others prepared for inspection, unaware I had disappeared. Luckily, no one opened that locker door and found me that way. Thank goodness for my agile, flexible body that night.

Fort Monmouth, New Jersey

 

After basic, I was sent to Ft. Monmouth, New Jersey for my photography training. It was November and snowing up north. I had never been around snow very much, especially where it was banked above my head on the sidewalks and still coming down. It was exciting, and even more so when I discovered Fort Monmouth was an hours bus ride from New York city. It was a perfect assignment for a man that loved musicals and dramas and Broadway and had never seen New York. I was in heaven. Basic training was over and I could be a regular person again in this army.

I spent almost two months in a holding pattern at Fort Monmouth that November because my luggage had been lost. It seems my luggage was flown to New Jersey while I arrived by bus. Go figure. That's the army for you. All I had was my dress uniform and a warm coat. They had nothing for me to do until my luggage arrived. I was upset. My school was to start at the end of the month. I missed that class. They assigned me to the next one in January. Eventually, I was given money to buy some civilian clothes and told to check in daily for my luggage. Otherwise I was free to roam about the base and community of which I took full advantage. There was a small coffee shop just off the base that I loved to visit everyday and an art gallery near by. I spent a lot of time reading and writing home. When my bags did finally arrive I received my orders and was told to report for duty.

  Immediately I was assigned KP for a solid month.

 This was so I would not have to be bothered once school started, they explained.

 I pictured myself, sitting on a bucket, sleeves rolled up, sweat pouring down my face, messy apron around my lap peeling potato after potato with the mess Sargent breathing down my back chewing his cigar out the side of his mouth like a Norman Rockwell magazine cover.

 What a miserable month I thought I was in for.

 What I really did was set the tables with silverware for the officers and cleaned floors and tables, all day, every day for one whole month, Sundays included. It really was like working in a restaurant. I was so good at it they let me start waiting on tables for the officers. I didn't have to take food orders but did have to serve plates and make sure water and other drinks weren't neglected. I became the perfect waiter, getting to know the officers names and they mine.. I was treated like a favorite waiter, and I never ever had to peal even one potato. I must admit, I was a little disappointed at that.

In the evenings my friends and I played pool or roamed the base and watched movies, at a theater on base, in our civilian clothes.

Photography School Starts

  

When school did start, it was like being in college again, except for wearing army uniforms. Army green was not my favorite but I did grow to like it. My particular company did not treat us like we were in the army. We did not have to muster in formations and march like soldiers to school, like the guys in the other schools and barracks. I was in the signal corp they said and we were the artists of the army and stretched the rules. Every morning we walked like regular people to our class, books in hand, trying not to look or make remarks, at the soldiers marching in formation to their classes. In the evenings we were free to study on our own. No rules. No duties. One of my friends, from upstate New York had brought his 1965 red Ford Fairlane convertible.

In the evenings, we visited Asbury Park or Palace Amusements and rode the bumper cars and relaxed walking up and down the boardwalk, looking at the ocean or gawking at the people.

 Yes, it was like you thought a retirement community would be like. Fat old men sitting on benches feeding seagulls in their obscene bathing suits while reading newspapers or women in their not-to-be-seen-in-public two piece bikinis no longer able to hold those bodies they envisioned they still had. Yes, most of the people who visited the boardwalk were elderly but there were young people too, especially girls looking for soldiers. We also ate lots of hot dogs and corn dogs from the vendors or ganged up on pretty girls riding bumper cars, knocking them off guard and flirting. 

On several weekends I rode the bus to the city, checked into a hotel and attended Broadway plays. I did this alone because my new friends had no interest in anything on Broadway except the strip joints. I didn't mind. I had the privilege of seeing Pearl Bailey in Hello Dolly, Angela Lansbury in It's a Dear World, Rosalind Russell in Mame. Lauren Bacall in Cactus Flower. ( This could be a whole blog in itself.) On Sundays I would attend Second Avenue Baptist church where there were a lot of southerners in attendance. Once I went to Marble Collegiate Church to hear Norman Vincent Peale. He was such a powerful, positive man and became a great influence of mine.

On Sunday nights I rode the bus back and prepared for school. My teachers were professional photographers. Many had worked with, and for, large newspapers. It was a lot of hard work learning the camera, taking pictures and having critiques. There were chemicals to learn about and lots of lab work developing pictures. This was quite an extensive college course. At the end of all this training I was given a promotion for being one of the top graduates. I was now a PFC. Well, only for one day. The next day, I discovered my company also gave a promotion to those who graduated. So I became an E1 without ever sewing on my PFC patch. I still didn't understand this Army stuff. I was still a newbie. But, I was in the Signal Corp., the artists of the army. I was still afraid of doing something wrong, still afraid of authority and where I might be going. The class before me, the one that I missed were all assigned to Germany. Darn. I would have loved that. Rumor had it that the next class, yep, mine, would be deployed to Vietnam. I was scared but willing to go.

 Part Two to follow.

© Nippy Blair 2015. Posts and pictures on this blog cannot be copied, downloaded, printed, or used without the permission of the blog owner, Nippy Blair.