Not much more to say about Basic Training. Seemed more a game to me than reality. Kind of like we learned to play soldier. Learned to take orders, work somewhat as a team, fire an M-14 and dress the same. Maybe there was more to it but if there was I don't recall. No matter what, one thing was for sure, not a man of us was ready to go to war. Guess that came later.
Finally, there's the legend of Tommy Brown. Can't say he was a legend in anyone's eyes but mine and maybe not a man-jack of the hundred and ninety-two of us in Alpha Company remembers the man but me and Pvt. Brown.
As I recall, Tommy was a farmer. Also a big man with an accent that said he definitely wasn't from Minnesota. Could be wrong but my mind places him with the men who came from Eastern Tennessee where most every sentence's inflection always rises at the end. Like there's a hint of question left hanging in the air. When my mind speaks southern to me, it always sounds like it's from the western foothills of the Appalachians.
Two things. When we sat on class, be it indoors or out, smoking was forbidden. As was chewing tobacco. The Army gave us five minutes each hour to satisfy our habits. No more, no less. Tommy wasn't a smoker. No sir, he chewed his nicotine. Memory serves me it was Redman in the green bag with red lettering and a drawing of an Indian on the front.
My mind conjures this image: We were outdoors sitting in grayed bleachers learning something of vital military import. We'd passed though fifty-five minutes, mostly paid attention and tried our best to not fall asleep. We did good. One thing the Army taught us by example and not word, was no matter how tired we were or how boring our circumstance, wakefulness is important. Come break the Zippos came out, most of us fired up and briefly, we were happy.
Our return to the bleachers was when the fun began. The Sergeant in charge singled out Tommy as having chewed his way through the previous hour. Not good. As punishment he was ordered to plug in a jumbo chaw, large enough to stretch the pores of his left cheek (that would be the cheek above his jaw line. Even the Army drew the line on taking your 'baccy in suppository form). That done, he was then ordered to not spit during the remainder of the class. Tommy did as told. Though the next hour was no doubt interesting as all get-out, my attention kept returning to the big Tennessee farmer and his dilemma. A man takes his interesting where he can.
The class done, the Sergeant gave Brown permission to spit. And he did. A small pond's worth about the same color as his name. Followed that with, "Shee-it! Anybody can smoke cigarettes but it takes a man to chew tobacca." That was one of the highlights of my life and says a lot about where I've been and what I've done.
A week or two later, Tommy Brown left us for the recalcitrant platoon. Last chance before whatever happens to draftees who don't have the makings of a soldier. Before leaving he told us he'd been a farmer before he was inducted and would be one after his time in the Army. Whatever kind of discharge he received was of no consequence to him. Yeah, it was that kind of world back then. We were in a war and not everyone had much interest in being a part of it.
So, the day came, we cleaned the barracks, then dressed up in our finest, marched to a field, stood at attention and parade rest when told, and listened to a brief speech by our battalion commander. We were done and on leave. By now we'd received our orders as to future assignment. Mine said Fort Lewis, Washington and something about 11b, whatever that was, as did about half the training company. Those in the know said we were off to infantry training. As for me, I didn't care. What mattered was not having to be there for three weeks.
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