When I experienced basic training I was in a group comprised of draftees, volunteers, and a surprising number of college graduates who had taken advantage of student deferments until no further options remained. The overwhelming attitude was to go along, get along, and get it over with.
We also had a group of Mexican citizens who had come to the US for college, then been drafted while here. Having had a couple years of elementary Spanish in school, I was detailed to facilitate their transition. One became a lifelong friend.
Another small group of observant Jewish draftees was allowed to bunk together and see to their own dietary needs at meal times, rations and appropriate utensils provided. No particular problems that I recall.
Other than one black kid in my high school class, this was my first experience with young black guys (1968 was not a stellar year for such issues). Probably a result of policies, minorities were incorporated into each squad, platoon, etc, and we all learned to function as a unit to get through each day.
One boisterously loud young guy from Northern Ireland made it very clear that he was there to learn skills to take home and join in the fight against British oppression. He did not complete basic training, left in the company of a couple of serious guys in suits (CID, perhaps FBI?).
Couple of Canadians in the company, came to the US to join the US Army. Good guys, but they took a lot of nonsense from draftees wishing they had gone to Canada for the duration.
The mess hall was completely abysmal. The mess sergeant apparently had a deal with local pig farmers, selling the slop cans for pig food. The less we got on our meal trays the more was in the slop cans to be sold. The old staff sergeant was a WW2 veteran and Medal of Honor recipient, quietly relieved and transferred out, probably to a treatment facility for alcoholics. No official statements, only rumors and innuendo.
The drill sergeants were all combat veterans, very serious guys who were on the job at least 12 hours every single day. Corporal punishment was strictly forbidden, but Staff Sergeant Gilcrest had a habit of making his point by poking us in the chest with a knuckle, right where the dog tags hang over the sternum. I always had bruises. Better than another 50 push-ups, and much easier to take than a half-hour in the "dying cockroach" position.
I later enjoyed the Paul Newman movie "Cool Hand Luke", which I believe to be Sgt. Gilcrest's inspiration for digging holes, filling them in, then digging them again. My old entrenching tool probably still shows the wear of my hands.
Scrubbing the latrine floor and fixtures with a toothbrush. Polishing the linoleum floors with scraps of GI blankets. Picking up the contents of my foot locker, thrown out the door because my razor or shaving brush weren't perfectly positioned for inspections. Contents of my laundry bag dumped in the mud because the knots weren't perfectly centered on my bunk rail.
Rifle training! Lots of fun. Introduced to the US Rifle M-14 caliber 7.62mm, a gas-operated, magazine-fed, shoulder-fired, semi and fully-automatic infantry weapon.
Some confusion about "gas-operated", a couple of guys tried to figure out where the gas tank was.
Magazine? Where is it? I want to read it and learn what this is all about.
Bayonet training! You will always go for the soft fleshy parts of the body. You do not want the blade of your bayonet to become lodged in the bony parts of the body. If the blade of your bayonet becomes lodged in the bones you do not act like John Wayne and try to yank it out, you just fire one round from your rifle and the recoil will free the blade of your bayonet. Any questions?
"Sir, if there is one round left in my rifle why the heck am I in a bayonet fight?"
"Get down, gimme twenty push-ups now!" (Never got a good explanation for that question).
Qualification day! 82 pop-up targets at ranges from 75 meters to 360 meters, time depending on the distance. Shooting from foxhole, prone, sitting, standing. 84 rounds of ammunition. Mud, puddles, soaking wet, light rain, miserably cold.
Basic qualification was 70%, 57 targets dropped, ranked as "Marksman". 80%, 64 targets, ranked as "Sharpshooter". 90%, 72 targets, ranked as "Expert" (and a 3-day off-post pass!).
My sorry old specimen of M-14, manufactured by TRW Corporation (a satellite company), lovingly maintained by me for my 8 weeks but perhaps indifferently treated by dozens of others before me. Held at arm's length and shaken vigorously, that old rifle rattled like a bucket of nickels in a boxcar.
Turned in a perfect score. 82 targets dropped, turned in 2 live rounds of ammo. Staff Sergeant Gilcrest loved me then! He had bragging rights! I even got to see the rifle trophy in the display case at the day room when I was assigned to clean the day room (which trainees were never allowed to use, of course). Picture in the post newspaper. Promotion to Private E-2, a raise in salary from $92 per month to $103 IIRC.
Enough recollections for one day, I think.
