Brutality in Basic Training

[BLACKHAWKNJ]

The message thread "Remember your DI/TI ?" prompts me to resurrect this one I posted on another board. My examples concern the Army, veterans of other services are welcome to post theirs.
1. Fort Dix, Summer of 1964. One Fort Dix alumnus from this time told me there was a fatso in his platoon. At every meal one of the DIs would follow him down the chow line-no bread or potatoes, no desserts. The kid lost 50 pounds. Another Fort Dix alumnus from the same time told me the "Biggest Loser" in his company lost 55 pounds.
2. Fort Dix, Fall of 1964. Another Fort Dix alumnus told me they had a real loudmouthed redneck in his platoon-and an NG to boot. They'd be standing in the chow line, one of the black or Hispanic DIs would tap him on the shoulder and say "Let's go for a run!" They'd come back 15-20 minutes later, the DI barely breaking a sweat, the redneck all red in the face, gasping for breath.
3. Fort Dix, Summer of 1974. One DI had to deal with-The Gasser! One recruit who was constantly passing gas, and he stunk to high heaven. He gave the their gas mask training early, gave them a big pompous speech about how on the President has the authority to order gas warfare, but one individual has arrogantly taken it upon himself. He then told them "If one of you detects this individual launching gas warfare you will shout "GAS" and this individual will put on his gas mask and do twenty five push-ups! If I or any of the other cadre detect it first you will ALL put on your gas masks and do twenty five push-ups!" The next day he dropped them four time, one of the other DIs dropped them four times, one of the other cadre dropped them once, one of the officers dropped them one-while they were in the chow line.
By the end of the day they were ready to kill that kid
4. Fort McClellan, 1980. One veteran arrived for MP OSUT, found he was classified as a "heavy drop"-aka a fat boy. He arrived 6'4", 240 pounds, left twelve weeks later, 6'4" 180 pounds.
5. Fort Jackson, the 1980s. Several veterans from this period have said they were restricted to the company area for the whole cycle, no snacks, no care packages from home, you ate what they put on your tray, that was it. One said there was a Fatboys Company-restricted dirt and extra PT. Also about this the "No Smoking in Basic" restriction was established. Those who though their DIs had been born yesterday saw the error of their ways.

 

[LoboGunLeather]

1968 Fort Jackson, SC. Staff Sergeant Gilcrest had a way of emphasizing his lessons by poking his middle knuckle into the trainee's chest, right where the dog tags hang over the sternum. I still have some faint scars there.

After my first sick call due to a sprained ankle SSG Gilcrest used me as a training tool to teach the trainees how to tape an ankle properly. No excuse would get us out of running, and we ran everywhere (except returning from the mess hall, we were allowed to walk to the barracks). That lesson actually came in very handy on several occasions, kept me mobile and prevented further injury while the sprain healed.

Not a drill sergeant, but at Fort Wolters, TX (Army primary helicopter flight school) an instructor pilot was well known for emphasizing his instructions by smacking the wannabe pilot on the helmet with a clipboard. Those lessons did not stick with me, nothing could overcome my inner ear problems and vertigo, so I had to go back to Vietnam as a grunt again. I love to fly, but there is something about sunlight and rotor blades that my brain just won't deal with very well. Never noticed it as a passenger, but while concentrating on the instruments and the horizon the problem could sneak right up on me.

 

[PeterJ]

The heading of this thread caught my eye as in 1966, I went to Ft Jackson for basic and my buddy went to Paris Island. We compared notes about how we were treated and there was no comparison. The worst physical contact that I ever saw was the side of a boot across the butt of a recruit. He told me of being called into the DI’s room and being beaten by the DI and his buddy,,, just because. Guess that’s what made Marines so tough.

 

[Donn]

Interesting. When I went in, (Spring '69), Ft. Knox had the rehab platoon, aka, the fat man farm. If a trainee exceeded the weight limit for his height, he went straight to "the farm." Overweight trainees were on restricted diet and took the PT test every other day, did grass drills and ran on the between days. They weren't assigned to a basic training company till they passed the PT test. If there was an up side, it was all "good time."

 

[CH4]

Things were much different at Lackland AFB in the early 80s. Folding my underwear in 6” squares was tough stuff, bordering on brutal.

 

[stu1ritter]

Ft. Dix, summer of 1959 I entered basic training weighing 212 pounds at 5' 10". After Sgt. L. Jones applied his magic to me and other plumpies, I left Ft. Dix still 5' 10" but somehow now hit the scales at 178. That was a rough two months.

Stu

 

[skywag]

I was laughing at basic at Lackland in 68'

It was a walk in the park compared to "hell week" at the fraternity.

 

[ldausmc1369]

Parris Island, 1969… need I say more?

 

[vt_shooter]

Things were much different at Lackland AFB in the early 80s. Folding my underwear in 6” squares was tough stuff, bordering on brutal.

No kidding, they were brutal in the AF. For one entire week our flight lost our table wine privileges at dinner, all because of one jerk that couldn't stay in step.

 

[walkin jack]

Naval Training Center, San Diego California, summer of 1962. I could burn up some serious band width with examples and illustrations but suffice it to say that each barracks building was a 2 story building that housed 1 battalion (4 companies). 2 Companies up stairs and 2 down stairs.

Navy boot camp back then was 16 weeks. Here are some statistics from my time there.
. 3 suicide attempts, 1 of which was successful. one on a night in my company when I was on fire watch. I was able to intervene and saved him.
. 7 AWOL attempts. My company commander told us the first day, in so many words, that some of us would go over the fence before it was over. And he said that if he didn't get 3 or 4 he was not doing his job.
. 12 or 15 recruits reported to sick bay with injuries some as a direct result physical assault from company commander some as a result of activities ordered by company commander. A couple required hospitalization one required surgery.
. Every one experience some form of Physical "dicipline" I was gut-punched several times.

Here are some of the favorites of my company commander:
. 16 count manual of arms with a fully packed sea-bag.
. extensive pt sessions
. We trained with the old Springfield rifles with the barrels leaded in. He would strap two of them together butt to muzzle. Running the length of the barracks was a loooonnnng picnic style table, referred to as a "center board". The offending recruit was ordered to sit on top and hook his feet under the bench he faced. Then place the rifles behind his head and do sit-ups until the back of his pants was bloody from hitting on the back edge of the table top.

The frequent gut-punch and the occasional openhanded face slap.

And just as bad was the high degree of psychological terror. You knew what he was capable of and lived with the constant fear that sooner or later he would get around to you....and he did.

Some of us didn't make it. Some of us did. You know the old saying, "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." I believe that is a true statement. You learn how to take a trimming as well as how to give one. You learn where a lot of your limits are. If you get through it you will be a lot more self confident.

The first couple of weeks I was terrified. I just knew he wanted to kill me. But then it occurred to me that it wasn't personal. He treated everyone the same. He was trying to weed out the ones that weren't fit. From that point on I was okay. I just resolved myself to my situation and determined that I could take what ever he dished out. I could and I did.
It wasn't fun. It took me a few years but I finally understood the benefits I got from this experience. Had I not goner through lit all I think I'd be less of a man than I am today.

Some believe that this kind of training is excessively brutal. Some believe it is necessary to prepare you for the rigors of ship board life and for self discipline and strength to survive combat. What I believe is that, considering the softness of boot camp these days, we have gone from one extreme to the other.

 

[jculloden]

Fort Polk 66/67 MOS 11B I truly believe it got me home from Vietnam and the Central Highlands was not the place to be..

 

[Sistema1927]

Ft. Dix, Summer of 1980 - I lost about 25 lbs, and came out of BCT in the best shape of my life. I came close a couple of times during the first weeks, but never fell out of a PT formation while toughening up.

No brutality from the cadre, but one screw up took a trip down the stairs after somehow getting stuck in his duffle bag with the strap hooked between his legs. It wasn't in my platoon, but some of the other guys in another platoon had grown tired of this fellow's shenanigans. His trip to the base hospital meant that he didn't return to our company.

 

[Capt Steve]

It was easier to be skinny...

I was the opposite extreme from most of you folks...
June of 1969 and just 10 days after my high school graduation I arrived at Fort Ord for basic training. At just 2 weeks past being 17 and a half I was 5' 9" and weighed 118 pounds.

Fortunately, though seriously skinny I had spent most of my teen years surfing southern California year round which left me in excellent shape. No one cut me any slack though and I carried the same pack and M14 as everyone else in our company. Back then we wore combat boots all day every day and yep, we ran everywhere we went.

The first day that we ran down to the beach ranges with full packs and our rifles everyone made it down but the trip back up {about 3 miles all uphill} was brutal for the fat guys. As they dropped out a deuce and half would pick them up and they got back to our company area about the same time as the rest of the company.

Then it was explained to them that every drop out and there were dozens, would be taking extra PT 6 nights a week and with the dietary restrictions described above.

We had a couple of ADI's that were real sadists and I remember getting kicked in the kidney for improper leg lift techniques more than once. Being bounced off of walls and lockers was pretty common as well.

Until my security clearance came through it was presumed that without it I would become another 11 Bravo vs my primary MOS of 98C/B in the Army Security Agency. Consequently we had to qualify with both the M14 and 16. The last week of basic it came through and I was off to Fort Devens MA for training as a Communications Traffic Analyst/Cryptanalyst followed by an 18 month tour in Karamursel Turkey...

Man that was a l long time ago.

 

[CH4]

No kidding, they were brutal in the AF. For one entire week our flight lost our table wine privileges at dinner, all because of one jerk that couldn't stay in step.

Same here. We were also threatened with being served SOS if we didn't get our **** squared away. The many. The smarter. The United States Air Force

 

[6518John]

Same here. We were also threatened with being served SOS if we didn't get our **** squared away. The few. The smart. The United States Air Force

One of my fondest memories of childhood is my dad taking me to the VFW Hall with him (today child protective services would remove me from the home). Smoking, drinking, swearing, endless war stories—I LOVED IT.

All his best buddies were Marines. A couple were of the Chosin Few. They were treated with reverence, even among a revered group.

Anyway there were talking about the hardships of Frozen Chosin—fingers and toes and ears and noses turning black and falling off, wave after wave of main line Chinese troops, etc. A hush fell over the room.

My dad pops in and says, “that’s nothing our air base officers club on Guam ran out of Bombay Safifre Gin once and we had to drink vodka martinis for a week after we got off flight duty!”

My lord those Marines howled! My dad rarely had to buy drinks.

 

[jag312]

I was 4F due to ankle and knee sports injuries, plus allergic to penicillin. However, the head football coach and one of the assistant football coaches were both former Marine Drill Instructors who had also seen action in the Pacific during WW2. Practice was brutal. There were times that we were so exhausted after practice that we could hardly walk to the locker room. We used to say that a kick in the butt from the head coach meant that he liked us. Push-ups, running, leg lifts, running, grass drills, running, then some more push-ups. As far as he was concerned, we were not exhausted if we could still breathe. "As long as you're breathing, you're okay." I once told him, many years later, that he wasn't just a good coach, that he didn't just make us good players, he made us men.

 

[Greyman50]

Only 2 incident I remember from summer of 71 at Ft. Campbell. Had one guy that would not take a shower, somehow the Army learned he was 16 and that was after he got a “ blanket party” led by a D.I.. Second incident was on rifle range. This , uh, best not say what I want to, trainee had a jam and actually turned his M-16 around sweeping half the line and asked a DI what was wrong with his “ gun”. DI hit him as hard as he could with his range paddle( white on one side, red on other), about knocked off the unmentionable’s helmet .

 

[fiasconva]

Speaking of marching...you guys remember the "road guards"? Those klutzes that could not stay in step no matter what so they were assigned to run ahead of us with little signs to signal to cars that we were coming through? Lackland in'71 was a piece of cake compared to wrestling practice.

 

[crazyphil]

Lackland 1952 we had an eightball in our group always getting chewed
out for something. One day our DI told us all that if we didn't get rid
of him, none of us were going to get out of basic. I was on the ground
floor so I don't know exactly what happened, but I have a pretty good
idea. The story was that somehow he "fell" off the 2nd floor onto the
concrete below. He went to the hospital and we never heard any more
about him.

 

[jaguargolf]

Maybe it's because I went USCG.
I thrived in boot camp. I was the only guy to put on weight in boot camp
I put on 1 lb.

Never heard of or witnessed any abuse or bad behavior by our DI's.
We didn't get a hot shower until graduation day. So What?

 

[CH4]

Speaking of marching...you guys remember the "road guards"? Those klutzes that could not stay in step no matter what so they were assigned to run ahead of us with little signs to signal to cars that we were coming through? Lackland in'71 was a piece of cake compared to wrestling practice.

Yeah, I remember the road toads. You’all have Lackland lasers?

 

[hostler]

Paris island in 1984. Man you guys are old.
The DIs weren't technically allowed to touch the recruits but plenty of underhanded, behind closed doors kind of stuff happened. The DIs we're great at sneaking little things in like stepping on your fingers while you did pushups, elbowing you in the chest as they walked by and renting your forehead with the brim of their cover.

 

[LVSteve]

My Dad was a volunteer for the RAF in 1950, right when most were trying to get out of National Service. He was doing his square bashing at Cardington in Bedfordshire and had a guy in his group who "wasn't going to do the NS". One day the gang was fell out after a bout of square bashing and this guy walked over to a narrow gauge railway that ran alongside the parade square. The little train came along, whereupon some wag shouted "Don't put your head on the rails!"

The guy turned, smiled at the assembly, and put his left hand on the near rail. As he left camp, he waved his bandaged appendage and called out, "See, I told you I wasn't doing National Service".

Another time Dad said a guy get up from a card game and didn't return. He had hung himself using the chain on an overhead toilet cistern. I can't recall if that happened during Dad's training days or later.

 

[ameridaddy]

Basic at Ft. Jackson, Jun-July-Aug 1964.
Reveille 0400, Run, sweat, sand, run, sweat, sand. Sand really sticks good to sweat. Lights out 2200.
Day after day.

Our battalion was a test bed for a new BCT methodology. As such, there were as many as eight Drill Sgts per platoon, more than half of them had CIBs, they all wore tan pith helmets, which I guess was a blessing compared to OD helmets in the blazing South Carolina sun, and we were the first to get pugil stick training ala the USMC. There was no physical abuse, such as striking or tripping, but there was intense physical training: a pre-dawn run, mass PT every day, sometimes twice a day, double time everywhere, in formation and on your own. After dinner, hand to hand workouts and pugil fights in the sandpits behind the barracks, low crawl workouts (right down flat on the belly, scrape up your belt buckle, move like an alligator) that made you feel like your guts will spill out when you stood up.

Cleaning out the foul smelling, slimy grease pit off the end of the mess hall was a regular assignment for slackers, but only four incidents stood out for me.
1. - standing in formation, early in the cycle, Drill Sgt says "Anybody wanna smoke?" and some fool said "Yes Drill Sgt!"
Drill Sgt lit him up, and promptly put a galvanized bucket over the fool's head, and started yelling "Smoke, c'mon, you wanna smoke you ***, now ^&**^#@ smoke, I wanna see smoke!!!" and he puffed until he puked.
Nobody ever wanted a smoke after that.

2. - Sunday was supposedly a day off, but if you stayed around the barracks and tried for a nap, you'd for sure be on a work detail by 0900. With slick sleeves and a knob haircut, you'd be ID'ed as a trainee anywhere on post, and no matter where you went, you dare not lie down or immediate work detail would ensue.
Well, one fine Sunday morning, I go caught in barracks with a few other guys, Sgt says report to the mess hall with your entrenching tool. ????
We arrive, Sgt says we're going to erect another set of overhead horizontal ladders to get us all to chow faster. We all had to go thru the ladders before every meal, so a lengthy queue always happened. One thing I'll give the ladders; it really, really hardened your hands. I had rows of callouses mid finger, on my palm at base of fingers, and mid palm through the thumb web all the way across the palm to the outer edge.
Any how, we figger dig six holes 2-3 feet deep, set 8x8 posts, pour some concrete, piece of cake. Well, then the posts arrive. They were 16 feet long, the holes had to be 8 feet deep!! By dinner, we had them dug, but I was terrified of a cave-in in the sandy soil, way over my head with no shoring. Being so deep, the holes were huge, actually just two 16' long trenches.

3. - Our platoon leader's pet address to us was "You [guano]birds are this that and the other..." , nothing nice. He told us if "You gaunobirds" keep screwing up, you will get 'hurricane drill.'"
Recall that your footlocker at the base of the iron bunk was not for actual use, but for inspection display only purposes, with underwear rolled around toilet paper tubes precisely 6" long filling in the bottom, a never used razor, blades, tooth powder, soap bar, and a tooth brush neatly arranged, all same brands throughout the platoon, precisely measured and square on top of the precisely folded, white GI towel in the top tray.
It was a dark and stormy night, pouring down rain, when at 0100, the barrack lights came on, Drill Sgts banging night sticks on galvanized buckets, yelling "Fall out on the company street for Hurricane Drill, uniform of the day is skivvy shorts, combat boots and footlockers!"
Stumble around, fall out, don't know what to do with footlocker, more yelling...Ten hut... poart...footlocker... Rah shoulda.. footlocker... layef ...sholda... footlocka...Rah...shoulda...footlocka... prayasen... footlocka...port... footlocka...layeft faaa.. fard harch... double taiyem...harch ...pouring down rain... surprising how many lights are on around Fort Jackson at O-dark-thirty...after about twenty minutes, occasional crash of footlocker and cursing, back to barracks, another little manual of arms with footlockers, "Barracks inspectcheun - 0430... Fawl out!" There we were, exhausted, muddy, dripping wet, wondering how we're going to sort out this mess without trashing our immaculate barracks floor and latrine, readied for daily inspection the night before.

Answer - you don't sleep, and you hope yours is not the footlocker the Drill Sgt chooses in the morning inspection to lift the tray to find the wet display underwear underneath.

That was the same platoon leader who called us around him, in the middle of the afternoon in August in some sunburned field at Ft. Jackson, to tell us guanobirds that American ships had been fired on in the Gulf of Tonkin, that we were at war, and you guanobirds are gonna be the first to go to combat in Vietnam, maybe next month.
Sobering thought, but as hot and dirty as we were, we just wanted to get through the next day, one more day closer to getting out of Ft. Jackson and being a nobody, a knob-headed cipher of a trainee.

4. Had 19 straight days of violent thunderstorms every afternoon in August. Almost got hit by a lightning bolt on the rifle range. Felt my hair stand up, saw St. Elmo's fire on my clipboard I was using to score a guy in the foxhole. It blew a utility pole to pieces about 40 feet from where I was standing.
That same day, we saw three or four guys in ponchos, from another company, lying on the ground on a hillside by the golf course as we marched by in the pouring rain. Found out later they had been killed by a lightning strike.

I was in pretty good shape to start with, but actually gained weight but lost inches at the waist over the nine weeks. Then, graduation, prep for leave, "Get the barracks ready, and you can leave" said the company clerk, hurry hurry hurry, buff buff buff, pack duffel, get orders, get on deuce and a half, go to pole shed about 0800. Sit in pole shed with dirt floor on duffel. All day. No lunch. Thunderstorm about 1300. Dirt floor now mud floor, polished Class A black shoes now half brown and muddy. Sweaty, soaking wet from rain, all creases in class A summer khaki's gone. 2400 - truck to train station. Train is milk run, stops at every telephone pole, wooden third class seats, nothing to eat. 24 hrs to home. See really sharp looking Marines get off train, meet their loved ones, I get off looking like a drowned rat, nobody there because train was way late, had to borrow a dime to call my girl friend.
In spite of my appearance, she was still glad to see me and took me home to my folks' house. All was right with the world.
I even made my bed at 0600 the next day.

 

[CH4]

^^^^^^^^
That’s exactly why I was an airman.

 

[BLACKHAWKNJ]

Back in the Day Fort Dix was derided as the original "Camp Swampy", a "country club", allegations that troops who trained there had a lower survival rate, etc. Being the only large Army base in the Northeast, the only one conducting BCT, located between New York and Philadelphia it was subject to a lot of media scrutiny. There were a couple of recruit deaths in the year before I enlisted in 1967, that didn't make for good publicity.
The word that struck fear and terror into the heart of every recruit when I was there was "RECYCLED!" The usual reasons were illness, injury-and PT failure. AFAIK there was no Fatboys company, the cadre in our company did not monitor the caloric intake of the porkers. At the end of the 3rd or 4th week there was a make or break PT test, those who failed it were "RECYCLED!" I walk past the room of one of the bolos-he was stuffing his fat face with a hamburger.

 

[AzShooter]

1974 Lackland AFB, Texas. I hate to say it but AF Basic Training wasn't tough at all. My problem was I left NJ and it was 19 degree. I would go running so that I'd be ready for that mile and a half in 16 minutes. First time we had to run it was 95 degrees out and I couldn't take it. I ended up passing out.

When running the obstacle course one of the guys tripped me when I was passing him and I pulled all the ligaments in my leg. Had to go to a deferent squadron and almost had to start Basic all over. Ended up on crutches.

In the chow line one of the servers asked me what happened to my leg and I joked that the DI pushed me. He was standing behind me a the time and said he'd do more than trip me next time...

I lost 20 pounds during Basic even though PT was easy. Glad I joined the AF.

 

[ladder13]

My Bronx born and raised brother, went to Fort Jackson SC in ‘71. He lost 40+ lbs, alot of baby fat, and came back from basic talking Y’all, Sir, Ma’am.
My parents thought it was the Invasion of the Body Snatchers. “Who is this?”

 

[Donn]

Cadre striking a trainee in front of witnesses was forbidden when I was in BCT at Ft. Knox in '69. But, there was something called "laundry detail." If a trainee was a dud, (Army equivalent to a USMC Gomer Pyle), or had an attitude problem, they were assigned to said detail. He would be called to the supply room after training. Inside, several of the cadre awaited to show the trainee in question the error of his ways behind closed doors. Laundry bags were piled up against the walls to prevent serious injury, hence the name, laundry detail.

 

[ace22]

april 1971, basic at fort polk.

my company was on the range for night fire training. we were in prone position lined up before firing as the range officer was running through the safety procedures on the pa system.

right as he asked 'is there anyone down range' a troop about 5 spaces down from me fired his m-16. two drill sergeants immediately ran up to him, one kicked him in the head as he was still prone then they grabbed him and dragged him off.

i never saw that troop again, still wonder what happened to him.