OCS
When I was drafted in 1967 the Army gave me a series of tests to determine what to do with me. I was given a test to determine my ability with Morse code, which I did well on because I had been a ham radio operator since the days I was in Junior High School. There were general intelligence tests, and I was later invited to take one additional test for Officer Candidate School. This test was really weird. It included questions like: “Would you rather cheat or steal?” and “would you rather play tennis or golf?” Now, I had already spent time at a university, so it sounded like a lot like more of that. “Sounds good” I said, let me have a crack at OCS. If any of you have seen the movie “An Officer and a Gentleman” then you have a rough idea of how the experience went. I’m a pretty head strong guy, and the first thing the Army does when you go to basic training or OCS is to empty your head before they fill it with what they want in there. I had endured basic training and advanced infantry training before showing up at Fort Gordon, GA. In six short months the Army intended to turn me into a Signal Corps Officer.
I can’t remember anything in my life that clashed with who I am more than OCS. I am more than capable of doing things someone else’s way, but I have a really hard time with the notion of thinking someone else’s way. From the first day we were humiliated and broken down so that the Army could rebuild our minds into its predetermined mold. There was something called the Honor Code, which stated that we would be kicked out if we were caught lying or cheating. It was clear from the start that it was impossible to finish without lying or cheating, so the lesson was: don’t get caught lying or cheating.
Meals were the best the Army had to offer, but we had to eat sitting at attention, on the first 3 inches of the chair, staring at the person across from us and we had to eat “square” , meaning that the fork had to go straight up, then across to our mouths. That was pretty hard to do when you couldn’t look down at the tray. I remember one day we were given an ice cream cup for desert. Since we seldom had time to finish our meals and have desert, I put the cup in my field jacket pocket and decided to hide somewhere and eat it. Upon leaving the mess hall I encountered a second lieutenant who returned my salute with his left hand. Since an enlisted man couldn’t drop his salute before the officer dropped his, I was in violation, since a left handed salute wasn’t official. The second louie searched me and found the ice cream cup and told me I was stealing government property! He smashed it in the jacket pocket and had me doing push ups until I couldn’t do any more. Back then that meant about 150 or so.
We were required to keep the center of the barracks floor polished to a mirror finish. We never walked there, because it took a lot of work to make it like that, but the officers were fond of scuffing it up every chance they got. We also were tempted by the sound of “roach coaches” rolling through the company area in the evening. They had all kinds of snacks, but we were forbidden to buy anything. It was referred to as “poggy bait”, whatever that means. One evening we decided to buy and hide some pizzas in a storage area, and we got up at 3 am and had a little party. Naturally we were caught, and the officers took the pizzas and put them under big floor buffers, and polished the center of the floor with them. Now, we weren’t allowed to be out of bed in the first place, but the floor had to have it’s original shine when we got up at 5 am. We put our blankets over the windows, and repaired the floor. No one asked about the floor the next morning. It was the real lesson we were being taught: Cheat, steal, do anything you have to, but don’t get caught!
We used to participate in a weekly parade, attended by a few senior officers. Shortly before I decided to leave OCS we had all just returned from what we used to refer to as a “death march”. We called them that because the march was always at “double time” and wasn’t over until most of us had keeled over and absolutely couldn’t go any further. I had just taken my combat boots off and my legs were so swollen over the tops of the boots that flesh was just hanging there. You can still see where the tops of the boots went today. We still had the parade to do and so I put the boots back on and we went to the parade field to do our weekly show. Each platoon was expected to create a unique flag and we had no means of doing this, so we were forced to use a rag mop instead. This was all another example of the principle of get it done but don’t get caught. I think the idea was that we were supposed to sneak out and go to the PX and buy some cloth and sew a flag together in the middle of the night.
There were only two privileges we were allowed: If married you could have your wife visit for an hour or so on Sundays, and occasionally we were allowed a cigarette break. At the time I had a small pipe and some tobacco, so I would pull it out from the area below my helmet liner. The officers would yell at me, saying it wasn’t a pipe break but a cigarette break, however in time they actually started having cigarette and pipe breaks. It was the only time I can remember a concession being made.
I was forced to put up with those kinds of crazy things until I had been there for six weeks. You couldn’t get out before that, but I had made my mind up to do so as soon as I could. I really hate head games. I expected to be sent to Vietnam in the infantry as punishment for dropping out, and that is what happened. On the last day I was there we had a Physical Fitness Test. The Army had minimum requirements for several areas, including a mile run in combat boots. Each platoon ran together, and I came in first, probably the only athletic competition I’ve ever won, but I wanted to prove to everyone including myself that I was capable, but I just didn’t want the head games.