As always, lightly edited and probably too damn long. Enjoy.

The big day came and I reported to the MEPS station. The Army sprung for luxury accommodations for travel to Ft. Bliss in the form of a Greyhound bus. The trip from Illinois to Texas sucked. Much like the trip from AIT on “The Hill” to my permanent unit, it was filled with all kinds of adventure. That is sarcasm, because my move from AIT to my new unit was exactly 15 minutes and nothing happened. It’s been a lot of years, but 99.9% of that adventure occurred in my head as I slept. In other words, in 1988, there was not a mother fucking thing on the road from Chicago to El Paso worth seeing from a Greyhound bus. And it is a trip that takes like three days.

I disembarked with some other new recruits that were picked up along the way somewhere around oh-dark-thirty, and then we were herded into a waiting area with some guys that were already there. We were the first of what would be our Basic Training company. We were being supervised by a by a bored and tired looking looking E5. Eventually we were loaded onto a five-ton with our gear and made our trip to “The Hill” where Basic Training and AIT were both conducted back then. They don't have Basic at Ft. Bliss anymore, and AIT for Air Defense moved to Ft. Sill.

We arrived in a barracks and were told to sit on the floor. By now it is around 0300 hours. So about 50 guys so far are crashed out in various positions - we are just exhausted after days of travel. The E5 vanished, and was gone for a while, before returning to assign us bunks. We all gratefully crashed. About two hours later morning rolled around. Well, Army Morning anyway. That day we were allowed to sleep in until the very late hour of 0530. Once in basic, we were up at 0400 and doing PT shortly after that - that is "Army Morning." The Drill Sergeants usually let us sleep in until 0430.

Not having uniforms yet, we dressed out in civvies for the last time for a while. They even gave us TEN WHOLE MINUTES to get dressed. Everyone was bitching, but I was chuckling. Because I knew what was coming in basic. Ever get on a set of BDU's and boots in about a minute? If you were lucky you got two additional minutes to shave? Hell, I can get dressed, shit and shave in ten minutes if I have to, a skill I still use time to time almost 25 years later. Who says all the Army does is teach you 100 unique ways to use "fuck?"

• Did he just say we are running 10 miles today? Fuck that.
• I don't give a fuck which MRE I get. They all suck.
• I got fuck all out of that aircraft recognition class today.
• I think I'm going to go fuck off for a while instead of doing my work.
• Fuck off with that bullshit - I don't want to do another parade.
• We go across the border at 0400. The Iraqis are fucked now.
• Fuck it - drive that way to get around this shit.
• Are you fucking serious?
• That new soldier sure is a fuck-up.
• The Big Green Weenie fucked me again - my pay is fucked up.
• I think I just fucked up.
• Holy fuck! Did you see that secondary explosion?
• Where is PVT Smith? Fuck if I know.
• What in the fucking hell was the CO thinking?
• Fuck you and your fucking bullshit, you fucking fuck.

I love that word. It is so versatile.

After that we were told to make our beds. A few of us were trying to make it super neat and all that, but the E5 yelled again. "We don't have time for that shit! Get outside and line up!" I guess when you are in pre-Basic limbo, they don't care as much about shit like that.

We got fed right away, which was great, because I hadn’t eaten since lunch someplace near the Oklahoma border the day before. My first taste of food in an Army mess hall. It wasn’t Bob Evans, but it wasn’t bad. Vets complain about the food in the mess halls. It might have been horrible during the WWII Korean or Vietnam eras, but I can honestly say I never ate a bad meal in a mess hall. Field rations sucked, but that is par for the course.

After that, we were taught how to fall in formation and given some basic instruction in how to march by our E5 escort. He spent a lot of time yelling at us. We were then marched over to the CIF to get our gear. Duffel bag, BDU’s, boots, etc. That is your "TA-50" - gear assigned to a soldier they are responsible for. Boots and uniforms are expendable items, but things like your helmet and whatnot have to be returned when you leave the service. Paperwork was filled out, dog tags and name tapes ordered, etc.

Near lunch, we got marched over to the barber. Some guys were really freaked out about their hair, but not me. I had been wearing a high and tight haircut for years, so I wasn’t concerned. I was however shocked, when the E5 started yelling at me.

“Private! Are you some kind of fucking smartass?”

“Uh, Sergeant, I don’t understand.”

“Why did you show up with that haircut? Shut your fucking hole! I don’t want to hear it! Get your ass in there to see the barber!”

With that, he followed me in, looked at the barber, and said, “This guy is a smartass. Shave his ass bald!” Then he stormed out. I tried to explain to the barber, but of course he is a civilian who gives zero fucks about some kid who is gonna be bald for a while. So in our platoon, everyone had a pretty severe high and tight, and I was shaved totally bald. Humiliation number one.

After that, we were taken to some phones and told to call home. Without exception, every single one of the guys went into the phone booth, called home, and proceeded to cry. Without exception, every single one of us came out and tried to play it off. No one wanted to talk. I would imagine that unless you have a really shitty home life, leaving home for the first time is hard on anyone. I know that we all felt pretty low. After that day though, I don’t remember seeing anyone “get homesick.” That one good cry a bunch of 18 & 19 year old kids had seemed to get it out of us. After that we realized that this was manhood, and we were about to be trained to kill. It will sober you up.

Over the course of three days, all of the administration needed to get soldiers ready for Army life was performed. We were also forced to write a letter home to someone that contained our mailing address on post – by then we were told where we would be the next day. After a third night of limited sleep, we got roused and sent to our unit for Basic, where our E5 handed us off to the biggest, meanest black man I have ever met – our head drill sergeant. He was 6’5” and drove a Pontiac Fiero. I’m not sure how he fit in that damn thing, but he did. We made the mistake of laughing when we watched him climb out of it one morning about halfway through Basic, and we got "smoked" (doing pushups and such for punishment) for close to an hour.

It was worth it.

During our formation, they went through our civilian gear. The first thing he did was throw my brand new Nike running shoes into the pile of civilian clothes and such that would go into storage for the duration of our training. I tried to protest by telling him that they were on the list of what we should buy and bring with us, and I was promptly, again, to “shut your fucking hole.” Ugh.

Next he pulled out the top to my gi. I had taken some Karate as a kid, and I had my nickname on the back. I used to wear it as a lightweight jacket around school. It was comfortable as hell. The drill sergeant held it up and had a chuckle.

“Well Private, what is this? You some kind of Billy Bad Ass?”

“No Drill Sergeant! I took some karate a few years ago.”

“Well, we are going to find out if you are or not.”

About an hour later he hands me a pad and paper. Then he pins a brass set of E7 stripes on my front left BDU pocket and says I'm a platoon leader. He tells all the other privates I've been with for three days that they have to follow my orders as well as his. I get a mixed bag of looks - some pissed off that I got it, some who are curious about why me, etc. It was kind of a surreal experience. For no reason at all I was chosen, and I had no fucking clue what to do. I lead them the first half of basic before getting fired, so I did alright. Lots of assistant platoon leaders and squad leaders got fired. Daily.

A couple weeks later when we got thrown into a pit with the padded sticks, I got the shit beat out of me by a guy. Our head Drill had a pretty good laugh at that. Before I got into the pit, he even told me he wanted “to see some of them Billy Bad Ass karate skills.” Humiliation number two.

I never quite forgave myself for being a tool and wearing that thing, let alone taking it to training. My bruised ego didn’t forgive me either. Guess I was a bit 'cringe' as a kid.

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