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Instructors
Chain of Command
CAPT Floyd M. Symons, CO, RTC Great Lakes
CDR Dale P. Helmer, XO, RTC
LCDR J.R. Thomas, Brigade Commander, RTC
LT J.A. Hamel, Regimental Commander, 1st Regiment
CWO-2 R.L. Kershner, Battalion Commander, 13th Battalion
BTC H.D. Pfaff, Company Commander, Company 383
SA Calvin Johnson, RPOC, Company 383
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Other Memories
It's something of a shock to realize that, at this writing in 2011, more than 40 years have passed by since I started boot camp.
Three of us arrived from Providence on November 2, 1970 -- Robert Pray, Andrew Stohlbom and myself -- and we were bussed in with others from around the country from the airport to Boot Camp at Great Lakes, Illinois. The greeting was less than cordial. The first few days we were berthed in Camp Barry, consisting of wooden WWII barracks. We all got our buzz haircuts, clothing issue, first shots, and met our company commander, gruff Boilerman Chief Pfaff. The newer campus was accessible from Camp Barry by a tunnel under the road, and we had to sing Anchors Aweigh as we marched through it. I admit that I was a little apprehensive with what I had signed up for the first night after our rather gruff greeting and with armed guards at each end of the berthing room. It took a day or so to realize that the 'armed guards' were simply fifth week recruits on their service week, and we quickly learned to take over the watch. "Halt! Who goes there? Advance to be recognized!"
Marching and standing in line occupied much of the first few days. On our first mess hall experience, the line of us raw recruits outside the building stretched out a bit until we were put in close order by instructors yelling in our faces, "NUTS TO BUTTS! MAKE THAT MAN IN FRONT OF YOU SMILE!"
The new campus consisted of recently built concrete battalion buildings housing four companies of 80 men each. I was selected to be battalion clerk, which meant that I spent a considerable part of the day in the battalion headquarters typing papers, being a 'go-for' (go for this, go for that) and disbursing supplies such as toilet paper and cleaning supplies to the four companies in our quad. I had to attend all the classes with my company and do all of the other chores such as stand watch, make my rack so that you could bounce a dime off it, wash and dry clothes by hanging them precisely spaced, but I did have some significant privileges. I got to wear a RPOC insignia, which meant that I could cut in the chow line so I could get back to the office. I didn't have to do all the marching drills, I didn't have to do mess duty during Service Week, and I didn't get the antibiotic Vicillin shot. Everyone had a sore arm for a week after that shot, so I didn't let on that I got to miss it.
There was a lot to learn about our new profession. Since my dad was a commercial fisherman, I already knew that the pointy end in front of the ship was called the bow, the blunt end in the back was the stern, right was starboard, and left was port. Ah, but terms like 'gedunk,' 'smoking lamp,' and 'midwatch' greatly expanded my vocabulary. And then there is the term 'piece,' as in "This is my piece, and this is my gun. One is for war, and one is for fun." If the reader doesn't understand the meaning of that rhyme, I will not be explaining it here.
In the early 1970s a greater percentage of people smoked. We got occasional breaks, and smoking was allowed in the passageway (oops, I almost said 'corridor') between our company's berthing and our neighbor's. Both of my parents smoked, so I should have taken to the habit, but I can't stand the smell, so I tended to stay in the berthing compartment.
Navy chow is not noted for the 'fine dining experience.' The morning staple of creamed chipped beef on toast isn't called 'shit on a shingle' for nothing! Veggies are usually out of a can and boiled down to the consistency of mush. However, I was introduced to some tasty fare that I had not experienced before. Since my father was a commercial fisherman, I ate a lot of fish (and lobster!) when I was growing up. My mother was a good cook (she knew how to cook fish and vegetables), but she did not like spices much at all. So, I never had, say, pumpkin pie before ( we did have home-baked apple and blueberry pies, made from freshly picked fruit). Then, there was this cuisine called 'Southern,' including fried chicken, collard greens, etc. Another 'novel' dessert for me was cottage cheese mixed with canned fruit cocktail.
I almost volunteered for submarine duty until our first free weekend when a group of us took the train into Chicago. We went to the Museum of Science and Industry, and after touring the captured German U-boat, I politely rescinded my offer. Yes, I realize that there are only two types of ships in the fleet: submarines and targets. But, I'd still like to see the sun every day, thank you very much.
When we got off the train at the terminal in Chicago, we took tickets for a free lunch from some very friendly elderly folks who greeted us as we stepped off the train. Of course, the first thing we did was look for a liquor store and filled our pea coat pockets with flasks of booze, you know, to ward off the cold. About noonish, we got hungry and so decided to check out this free lunch provided so nicely for us recruits. The food was hot, if not anything special (chicken a la king or something like that). We were soon joined at our table by a man who made small talk, such as asking our home towns, etc. After about 5 minutes he took out a bible and proceeded to loudly proselytize for Jesus. Halleluiah! So, we bolted our meals and excused ourselves as quickly as we could and split out of there like a bullet out of a gun. We had to be a little careful in getting our pea coats back on in order not to clink the bottles in our pockets. Other than this and the visit to the MSI, I don't remember much about that weekend.
A visit to the dentist resulted in two wisdom teeth being pulled. This resulted in the entire right side of my face swelling up like a balloon and an overnight in the dispensary just before our boot camp pictures were taken.
Outside the base gates were shops selling things of interest to sailors. Most of us bought a pair of "liberty cuffs," decorative embroidered cuff bands for our dress blue uniforms. They were unauthorized, of course, which means that it was forbidden to use them on our uniform, but we all bought them anyway and sewed them into the inside of our cuffs. That way, if we were off base away from prying eyes, we could impress the girls by unbuttoning and inverting our cuffs to look salty -- or that's what we thought, anyway. I still have mine, a fierce looking pair of sharks.
RTC shut down during the Christmas season, so boot camp was interrupted as we got to spend two weeks at home. Unfortunately, we had to go back to finish up. Winter is a miserable time to be in Great Lakes because of the bitter cold wind that easily penetrated our uniforms. I wasn't able to take any photographs, but I did purchase the RTC picture book The Keel which included pictures of my company as well as generic boot camp photos (Unfortunately, my flatbed scanner is breaking the spine of the yearbook).
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