SPHINXES

After a half-day’s indignity of the pre-induction physical, I began to appreciate Lieutenant Kostic’s statement about 90 percent boredom. There was a lot of humor in the scene. Guys with ducktail haircuts standing naked didn’t look half so tough as they did in their Cleveland hood clothes. A skinny, short little guy got a lot of notice because of the inordinate size of his organ.

A mean looking older man, with tattoos on his arms, chest and calves turned out to be a 12-year Navy vet who was trying the Army “because I couldn’t make it on the outside.”

Finally our motley group stood in five loose rows, raised our right hands and swore our oath to “protect the Constitution.” With the final “so help me God” uttered, we were soldiers and I had a strong feeling that God’s help might be needed in the weeks to come.

The rest of the day was more boredom, sitting around as each of us was called to be given a big manila envelope and a copy of our orders. Then we were herded downstairs to the sidewalk, where names were called and groups were made up. An Army bus pulled up and the biggest chunk of our group boarded and trundled off.

I had assumed I would be going through basic training with this bunch of recruits, but in short order, I was alone on the sidewalk in the company of a tired-looking Specialist 4.

“Well shit,” he muttered. “Which bus were you supposed to be on, asshole?”

“No one called my name, sir.”

“Spec 4 Hooly, shitbird. Not sir. Let’s see your orders.”

Spec 4 Hooly compared my orders with his clipboard, cursed some more and headed for the front door of the induction center. “Stay right here, Lowrey. Do not move! If you’re gone when I get back, you’re AWOL. Understand?”

A half hour passed with no sign of Hooly. Then a cab pulled up and the cabby yelled, “You the guy for Port Columbus?”

“I don’t know, sir. I’m supposed to wait here for the Spec 4 to return.”

“Well hell. If you wait here you’re going to miss your plane. I’ll wait here two minutes while you go find this spec guy.”

I raced up the stairs to the now empty induction center. A girl sat at a desk in the lobby area, looking startled when I burst in. “Where’s Specialist Hooly?” I gasped.

“Oh-- Hooly went home. What’s your problem?” Then she glanced at the big manila envelope on her desk. “Are you Recruit Lowrey?” I nodded. “Hooly called a cab and then left you standing down there? What a numbnuts!”

She thrust the envelope at me. “Hurry! American Airlines to Columbia, South Carolina. God, it leaves in 30 minutes.”

Another fact learned about the Army. Hurry up and wait or wait and hurry up.

I’ll gloss over the 90 percent of the next three weeks. You’ve got it: boredom.

My first airliner ride introduced me to the barf bag as the American DC-3 lurched its way over the Appalachians. Landing in Columbia, I was herded into an olive drab bus with a group of guys just like the ones I left at the induction center and we were driven through some piney woods to Fort Jackson.

There, we were met by a trio of NCOs with clipboards and very loud voices. “Fall in you shitbirds,” the guy with the stripes screamed. Some of us looked around for something to fall into but two specialists rapidly formed us up into two lines.

Thanks to Benjo’s advice, my personal possessions were toiletries, cigarettes and a paperback copy of “From Here To Eternity,” all in a small cloth ditty bag. Some of my companions were ordered to turn over their suitcases, footlockers, guitars and other gear to one of the Spec 4s and get a receipt. The whole cadre broke up at the sight of one guy lugging his bowling ball.

We were given a ‘left face,’ a maneuver that caused the sergeant near apoplexy and then marched in a fearful shuffle into the maw of the Army.

A week later, I had been paid eleven dollars for two official days in the Army, shorn for two bucks, issued a half-ton of gear which I had to sign for and marched off to a PX and ordered to buy Brasso and a Blitz cloth, shoe polish, safety razor, bowl of shaving soap and a brush and some other crap. With my remaining 45 cents, I bought three packs of Pall Malls.

Our group was then marched to a barracks area where another NCO called names from a clipboard and sent each recruit to a squad. ‘Lowrey’ was not one of the names called and I was ordered to find the repple depple and settle in. I asked a kindly looking specialist what a repple depple is.

“Replacement depot, dumbass,” he growled.

Two other recruits occupied bunks in a 24-bed barracks that must’ve been built in World War I. They sat dejectedly on footlockers in front of their beds. I selected a cot, dropped my duffel and began to sit on an empty bunk.

“Hey, don’t sit on the bed,” one guy yelled at me. “There’s a little cocksucker lurking around who’ll make us sweep and mop this joint-- again.”

Shortly the aforementioned cocksucker appeared, a PFC France, who demanded my orders. “OK, Lowrey. Go to the quartermaster shed and draw your bedding. You’ll be here for awhile since you missed your training cycle.”

Benjo’s admonition to not ask, just obey, worked until France screamed at