Learning to be Stupid - II

   
                                                          Starch

     Where was I when I left off five years ago? Seems to me I recall Sgt. Richar standin' there, all snaggily-toothed, with a grin on his snarly, face and barking, "Your future may be better than mine city boy, but your present sucks to high heaven and I'm here to make sure it does."
     Seemed to me from my bottom-of-the ladder perch that Richar and all the DIs were personally responsible for starch being a growth industry back in '68. What with a war on and over two million men in uniform, one look at those boys in the Smokey Bear hats said where all that stiffener was going. Hell, each and every one of the screamers in green had knife-edge, ironing creases in everything they wore. Made you wonder about their drawers and t-shirts. Not that I dwelled on that picture at the time but the thought did cross my mind. All that starch must have chafed them something awful. Wore hair off their bodies. Could be that's what gave them their eternal case of the ass.
     Us trainees were a mobile force. Walked or double-timed everywhere. Yelled when were were told to yell, kept quiet as mice the rest of the time. Spent most of our daylight hours off to and from classes on foot. Can't say I recall them being all that academic. Even had one where they handed out the answer sheet before we took the test. 'Course, the Army being as fair as fair can be, had to have a few flunk the test. Wouldn't've seemed right had everybody passed. Long story short, I flunked. Had to take it again, this time without the cheat sheet. Yeah, I aced it. There's a moral in there somewhere, though it may be an immoral moral. Over the eight weeks we even marched to and from classes where we learned to march. Struck me as odd back then; strikes me that way now.
     But that's the way the Army was in the age of Aquarius. Even more back in the old, old days. The Army's point being gettin' a man used to doin' things that seemed stupid and maybe just a little dangerous just 'cause you were told to do it. Can't be havin' no sass or backtalk when push comes to shove. When the man on the horse says, "I want all you boys to get in a neat line. Be quick about it! Now, look down at your feet. Are your boots polished? Ask yourself, do I have fresh undies on? If you answered no to either of those questions, skedaddle off to your tent and make yourself presentable. The rest of us'll wait right here till you sashay on back."
     Three minutes passed. All was ready. "Attention! Straighten that line up! And you will keep it neat and orderly every step of the way. Listen up! This is the plan! We will assault yonder hill and pave the way for those who follow so they may be victorious. The Rebs at the top are dug in deep and have their field cannons filled to the gills with chain, nails and axe heads. They're aimin' to kill each and everyone of us boys in blue. But we won't let them, will we boys? No sir, five or six of you will only be hideously maimed and it'll be up to you cripples to drag all our glorious dead, or at least as much of what's left of them that you can find, back here so I can get an accurate body count. Now let's go get them Godless Rebs! For Motherhood and Apple Pie! Charge!"
     'Course, our war in the next set of '60s was a whole lot different. At least that's what I was hopin'. Me, I had expectations of comin' home in one, mostly screwed-up, piece. Be honest with you here, I wasn't giving the war in Vietnam much thought during Basic Training. My thoughts traveled no farther than chow and sliding through the day with as few ass chewings as possible. Don't know why I was that way. Could be a part of me knew for a fact where my future stood waiting on me, cigarette dangling from its lower lip, flipping the coin of fate, in no hurry at all 'cause three months down the road we'd be off together to the far east. Short-sighted? You bet.