Boot Camp

So I moved on from Cowboy dreams to dreams of going to sea…but I joined the Coast Guard you say…yes I did. But before I could realize those dreams, I had to get through Boot Camp.

The day I left for Boot Camp was hardest for Mom, but I got the idea that it really hadn’t settled into her mind that I was really leaving home. Not until she got a letter that informed her that I would be calling home soon, and not to be alarmed at how different I may sound, or in the “salty” language that might come out of me. I was 20 years old, and…well let’s back up a bit.

I started my freshman year of College in September of 1979…a Community College in the same area that I’d grown up. I quickly found that it was more like 13^th Grade than college. The Jocks were still Jocks, the Socialites were still Socialiting and so forth. It was boring and although I bailed out, I found it not very challenging. Continuing on at JC Penney was not an option. I was in that stage in my life where I was feeling the need to find my way…not follow someone else’s predetermined path.

I had begun to work with my parents as a leader in the Youth ministry at our church. There were five of the boys who had just finished Jr. High and were moving into their Freshman year in High School. I would correspond with them regularly over the next four years…but NOT while I was in Boot Camp.

I arrived at Government Island, Alameda, California on a dark cool morning in January, 1981. I’d actually already been “enlisted” since August, but signed a delayed entry contract and so had had ample time to think about what I was going to be doing. As I was standing at the Guard Shack at the end of the bridge that connected the Island with the mainland, the Sentry told us to “smoke ‘em if you’ve got em! Pretty soon you won’t have the opportunity to smoke ANYTHING!” This black kid from Mississippi … Merriwether was his name … asked everyone for a cigarette until he got one. I asked how he was going to survive if he had the habit so bad? He told me he really didn’t smoke, but if we were not going to have that freedom soon, he was going to take advantage of it while he still could!

They took us to the forming company barracks, took away our clothes and gave us coveralls. Over the next few days most everything was a blur. Getting our heads shaved, getting picked for the honor guard, getting our uniforms, learning to march and spin a rifle, signing up for our pay, writing that form letter to our parents, getting yelled at for every little thing we did wrong until we started to work as a team. No one could appreciate or understand it unless they’ve gone through it themselves. The real memorable moments came later…once I was able to look left or right without getting yelled at by BMC Buenaventura or BM1 Royce. When I could see and appreciate what my fellow recruits were going through.

There was the kid who balled up his fist as Chief walked by. That was the last thing he remembered for a couple of minutes! Chief cold cocked him in “self defense.” Then there was that stupid dog, Sloan. He would follow us all over the place and if you were stepping out of formation or just out of step, he would bark his fool head off, drawing unwanted attention by the Company Commanders. We hated that dog. We hated him to the point that we named the breakfast sausages in the galley, “Sloan Turds.”

There was one fellow from Texas. Seaman Recruit Pilachowski. He had a pretty thick Texas accent, and the Company Commander used to ask him his name, just to hear him say it. Sorry, I just can’t write it the way he said it, but it WAS fun to hear him say it!

One fellow couldn’t shut up when we were in class. He had to talk to anyone that sat near him. We had a three day weekend coming up, and they put him in a hole in the middle of the compound. It wasn’t a bad hole, it normally had a grate over it, and it was only about three feet deep. They took the grate of and made him stand in the hole…and talk to the brass ship’s bell that was in front of his face. “I will not speak until spoken to sir!” He had to continuously say that, over and over, all weekend long from sun up to sun down…except when we marched to/from chow. By the end of the three day weekend, he couldn’t speak. And he never did speak out of turn again.

It was like a bad movie, and the best scene began at about 0300 one morning. A fire drill. We grabbed our blankets, wrapped them around our shoulders and filed out into the compound in an orderly manner and formed up in our companies and squads. The Company Commanders came swarming out a few minutes later, screaming that we were too slow and that we were all dead…”on your backs you maggots!” We were on our backs on the pavement, still in formation. I was thinking that Community College wasn’t so bad at this point, and in a way, actually seemed like it might be easier all of a sudden when the Company Commander started yelling again. “Actually,” he barked, we were “not good enough to be maggots!” Maggots were a living thing that feeds on the dead carcasses of animals, and WE were “dying cockroaches.” So there we were. 450 young men, in our T-Shirts and boxer shorts lying on our wool blankets in formation, on a starlit night in February with our arms and legs in the air, affirming in unison at the top of our lungs that we were, in fact, all dying cockroaches “sir!”

It wasn’t all screaming and dying cockroaches in formation. I was in Oscar Company. Oscar Company was made up of recruits from each new company that reported in. So we had new guys coming in and old guys graduating every week. We were the marching band and drill team for all graduations and parades in the Bay Area. We were invited to do a demo on the Barbara Mandrell Show one time, but we were cancelled at the last minute. So we did push-ups and marched all weekend instead. The best week was the week that we were in Disney Land. Yes. I spent one whole week of Boot Camp, in Disney Land. All of the branches provided honor platoons, color guards and marching bands to open the park over a week. We would come out near the Small World ride and out onto Main Street USA and encircled the flag pole just inside the entrance, for the National Anthem and the raising of the Colors. It was awesome…I still get chills when I hear a military band play the Star Spangled Banner.

So what did I get out of Boot Camp? I knew how to march, I knew the basic manual of arms and some really cool tricks while spinning a rifle, I knew that I was going to the Coast Guard Cutter POLAR STAR in Seattle, WA, and I knew that I had found my own path. It’s not for everyone, and I only joined for four years. That was nearly 30 years ago.

NEXT: POLAR STAR going to sea

What I wanted to be when I grew up.

As a little boy you have many more options today than Toby Tyler did...although, I do feel like I am in a circus anyway, from time to time. You start out wanting to be like Dad, or a Cowboy, a Fireman, a Policeman, etc.

Cowboy was a natural for me growing up in the rural part of Eastern Washington on the same property with my maternal Grandparents, and not far from a ton of other Aunts, Uncles, Grandparents, Great Grandparents and all with a range of origins that were down-right Hill Billy to survivors of the Dust Bowl. My Uncle Jim used to hint at a rumor that we had one relative who had been a horse thief. Cowboy Royalty! An abundance of Country AND Western Music as I grew up and several pastures to run barefoot through, cows, goats, pigs and the like to take care of. And even a couple of horses! Yep. Being a Cowboy was lookin' good!

The reality of life as a farm boy set in before puberty. Not something that I wanted. Politics? I saw what happened to a cousin when he told Grandma that he wanted to be an "honest attorney." Grandma laughed for quite awhile...SOOOO...that was out. JCPenney management? Nawww. Marines like Vinny? Air Force like Mike? Army like Ed? Every time I polled Mom, her response was, "Go ahead. Probably be the best thing for you." I was quickly running out of options and the military obviously was not having the shock value with Mom that I was looking for.

Dad was a mechanic for my entire life. He would get called out more frequently...at all hours of the day and night by people whose cars he worked on. I learned a lot from him over the years...I still do a lot of my on wrench work on my cars...and have passed that appreciation onto my oldest son. But still, not a life that appealed to me.

Late one June night...sitting up watching t.v. with my friend and road trip buddy Chuck...a Coast Guard Recruiting commercial came on. That was it! I would join the Coast Guard. So I talked Chuck into driving to Yakima-the closest recruiting office...it was a Sunday night and I had been cutting classes at CBC anyway. So we got there at 0400 on Monday morning, slept in the car until 0800. I ran the recruiter gauntlet...the Coast Guard was at the end of the hall of the other four branches. I walked in, placed both hands on the desk in front of RM1 Pete Westerberg and said, "Where do I sign?!" Petty Officer Westerberg was patient and amused. He told me to cool my jets that, one, I had to take a test, and two, there was a waiting list. So after I took and passed the test...I still had to go back home.

Going back home would not have been a big deal, except for one thing. I had left a note (taped...it was before yellow stickies) on the bathroom mirror..."Mom & Dad...the next time you see me, I'll be in the U. S. Coast Guard." So. Humbly...I went back home...and got the silent treatment for three days.

On the third day, I walked into the kitchen where Mom was doing dishes. I helped in silence until she asked me, "So. How long are you in for?"

Over the next few months...I celebrated my 20th birthday, continued to work at JCPenney, also worked the wheat harvest...that was the Summer following the eruption of Mt St. Helens...and the wheat was huge. Helped my Uncle work on his Steam Boat ARTEMIS for a bit too. In January 1981 I left for Boot Camp.

I often think about something that Hank Sauer, my HS Cross Country Coach used to tell us. "Know the course!" He would say. "If you don't know where you're going, you'll end up some place else." Boy. Was he right!

Psalm 107:23 became my life motto; "Those who go down to the sea in ships, who do their work on the great waters, they see the works of the Lord and His wonders in the deep."

NEXT: Boot Camp