SQUELCHED

4 Squelched job in basic training was to do my turn under the billet shoveling coal at 3 a.m. in the cold and freezing rain. Actually, I enjoyed myself tremendously in basic training: all of the buck privates were readymade friends, and one’s station in life didn’t count. The biggest challenge of our daily grind was banding together to endure our arrogant and mouthy drill sergeant. Frequently, we buck privates were told by our drill sergeant to drop to the ground, sometimes straddling a mud puddle, in the pouring rain, and to give him twenty push-ups. We may have thought we were developing our physical endurance but we were also bowing down to his highness. Each week, right after we each received our weekly stipend in cash, our drill sergeant called us all to “attention” in the privacy of our barracks, and then after we all assembled in formation, we were ordered to be “at ease.” We were then asked to make a donation to his weekend beer drinking and carousing fund. If we cooperated with him, he assured us that he would be busy over the weekend, and we’d be free of him harassing us. Eventually, after we graduated from basic training, we learned that our drill sergeant was demoted for his behavior and shipped to Viet Nam. As buck privates, we were all given a battery of tests in the first few days of basic training. We were measured, sized-up, and ranked. Our test results became numbers affixed to our permanent military files. My poor high school grades didn’t hinder my ability to score well on the military tests. I had one goal. I wanted a desk job in the military or else I would become a ground pounder or an artillery man. When asked questions on the mul- tiple choice tests as to whether I liked the outdoors, or liked to work on cars, go hunting, or go for a walk in the woods, I responded, “No.” From my perspective, I did well on the tests. I was given a desk job, and was awarded a Military Occupation Specialty (MOS) 71F40 (Postal Clerk). Once I completed basic training, my next move in my military career was to attend Advanced Individual Training (AIT). While I felt relieved about my MOS, I was harassed constantly by the senior military commanding officers at Fort Lewis. In the first couple of weeks during boot camp training, I was approached by a captain and a lieutenant on more than one occasion and urged to consider going to