redhedlvr2

In the last month or two, we’ve had a few days where’s it’s just poured rain. Not the gentle, annoying do-I-dig-out-the-umbrella-or-not rain, but the if-you-wear-clogs-your-feets-gonna-get-soaked kind of rain. Some storms were tropical in nature, and all you can do is bear it and be glad you don’t live in Florida. And every time, without fail, when it rains this way I always think “It’s a great day for ducks”. Which makes me think of geese, which always leads me to thinking that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. Don’t ask me why, it just does.

What’s not to love about Turkey Day? A little cooking, a little eating, some football if you lean that way. There’s no pressure to buy presents of equal value for everyone you know and no hurt feelings if some distant relative forgets to send you a card. It’s a win/win holiday all around.

But I have other reasons to like T-Day as well.

In October of 1977, I left my father’s home for a grand, four year adventure in the US Army. In true OC (obsessive-compulsive) form, I made sure I had packed everything The Army said I would need. Two of everything, in fact, all tucked neatly into my brand new American Tourist suitcase. This mutha weighed ten pounds empty and wheeled suitcases had not been invented yet, but, you know, they told me I had to have it.

The Army came to my house to get me and took me to the Induction Center. There they gave me, and several other new recruits, bus tokens and plane tickets, pointed us in the direction of the bus stop and told us to get to the Philadelphia airport and get on our assigned planes. We were then warned of the dire consequences of NOT disembarking at the Columbia, SC airport which included something called AWOL and a lecture on the delights of Leavenworth Federal Prison. Yadda yadda, get on with the adventure, right?

So, The Army collected us in Columbia. Then they did more inspecting and injecting (listen to Alice’s Restaurant some time). We got new uniforms, really groovy black rimmed glasses for those of us so inclined. We got to stand in line, sit on backless benches, “SLEEPING? DID I SAY YOU COULD SLEEP ON MY BENCH?” No one spoke in a normal voice there and they didn’t let us sleep more than four hours a night. And the staff owned everything from the benches, to the lights and all the furniture in between. We were issued our combat boots, which perversely, we were not allowed to wear indoors. I still can’t figure that one out. All this fussin’ and fumin’ and we hadn’t even met our Drill Sergeants yet!

But, that changed soon enough. On the second day, we were told to line up with our luggage (a more apt name for the crap you carry around when traveling I’ve never heard. That damn suitcase!) and then we got to see who was going to own us for the next eight week cycle.

Then, this little, tiny woman, who if she was 4’10” then she must have just gotten off a mid-evil torture rack, paced up and down in front of us, voice booming and echoing off the buildings behind us and saying such things as we were all dumber than dirt and didn’t deserve the honor of being in The Army and how was she ever going to make soldiers out of any of us was beyond her, and more yadda yadda and I started to snicker. Which, obviously is what she was waiting for because she was nose to chest level with me in a blink, yelling right in my olive drab buttons about what I thought was so funny. Of course you can’t ever say the right thing in those instances, but it was used as a teaching aide for the others. From this we learned the proper way to answer any and all questions put to us. “DRILL SERGEANT! YES DRILL SERGEANT!” After which a new skill was learned starting with the Front Leaning Rest position followed by as many push-ups as deemed necessary to satisfy the infraction just committed.

Anyway, I wasn’t the only one doing pushups and once we were all finished it was time to board our cattle (yes, moo moo, get along lil’ doggies) cars and we were taken to our new home, aka barracks for the next eight weeks.

Things went along like this as we learned how to properly make a bed. How to properly scrub a toilet. The fact that Drill Sergeants could see the smallest, microscopic specks of dirt on any surface. Which of course, led to a recleaning of said surface. We ran everywhere when we weren’t marching. We did PT. Then we ran some more. Toilets were latrines. Beds were bunks. We had buddies who we quite possibly couldn’t stand but were required to know their social security number and recite it back in proper form. “DRILL SERGENT. PRIVATE SO AND SO’S SSN IS whatever whatever! DRILL SERGEANT!” They taught us cadences to chant as we marched/ran. Some were amusing:

My back is achin’
My bra’s too tight
My hips keep shakin’ from left to right
Who’s that! Who’s that! Who’s that talking so bad
Alpha, Six, Two, Four, AAAARRRRRRRR

Really intellectual stuff like that. Obviously not for the men to chant though.

Anyway, things went along this way until the week of Thanksgiving. Which, praise all the gods, we were to have our bivouac that week. Normally bivouac lasted a full week, but, ta-da! Thanksgiving was right at the end and of course the Drill Sergeants couldn’t be expected to be out in the field with the dirty, stinky recruits. So we had three glorious days of wearing camouflage on our hands and faces. Running obstacle courses as a squad and woe be to the one who had to carry the ammo boxes. We did get to fire grenade launchers as well as a LAW (light anti tank weapon) and I actually hit the tank! Woo hoo!

At the end of the first day, we were told to get with our buddy and put up our shelters. They told us to make sure one of us had a male shelter half and the other had the female shelter half or there would be no tent for that pair that night. After that was done, they told us to take our entrenching tool (shovel) and dig a six inch deep trench around the outside edges of the tent. This was in case it rained so the rain had a nice little channel to run down and wouldn’t flood the tent. I’ll say one thing about my buddy and me. We didn’t really like each other much, but we took what they told us to heart and dug the Mariana Trench around our tent. Good thing too, because on the last night, as if the drill sergeants had ordered it especially for us, it poured rain! We had tents that collapsed because they weren’t erected properly (male/female connections). There were people who got flooded out because they didn’t dig their trenches deep enough or at all. But Buddy and I were high and dry all night and it’s probably the only thing we got right the whole cycle. And then, glory be, we got to go home (the barracks) for Thanksgiving cutting short our glorious romp in the woods.

Let me take a wee break here and tell you about chow. Meal time when in basic training was rather like Russian roulette. If your platoon was “good” that week, then you got to go to the head of the line and get the fresh, good food. If you were a slacker platoon, (see where this is going?) you had to wait until last. So each platoon who went before you got the good stuff and for whatever reason, we took a bullet every time.

Thanksgiving dinner that year was not that way. First of all, the food was great! They must have sent all the good cooks over to headquarters during the rest of the cycle, but on Turkey Day, The Army delivered. There was turkey and stuffing and this thing called bread pudding with some kind of sweet sauce poured over it. We had yams and pies and we actually got to SIT on the chairs and eat! It was heaven. But as with everything in The Army, there was a price.

One of the ways the drill sergeants quizzed us to see if we were learning the basics was to ask us questions in the chow line. Drill Sergeant: Describe the rank insignia for a master sergeant. Recruit: DRILL SERGEANT, THE RANK INSIGNIA FOR A MASTER SERGEANT IS THREE CHEVERONS AND THREE ROCKERS! DRILL SERGEANT. And fun facts like that. If you got the answer wrong, it was back of the line time for you. Good incentive to know your ranks and M16 specs.

Well, on that Thanksgiving day, those fun loving drill sergeants decided to give us a break. The whole company marched up to the mess hall and since my platoon had yet to go first ALL CYCLE, we were dismissed first. And in the spirit of the holiday, as we were dismissed we were to chant, as one, EVERY DAY’S A HOLIDAY, GOBBLE GOBBLE, ARRRRRRRGGGGGG! And we got in line first.

Then on Monday morning, it was back to the marching, low crawling through mud and a truly fun filled 20 mile night march that included tear gas. Ahh, the memories.

Anyway, now you know why rainy days and Thanksgiving seem to go hand in hand for me and why they always make me smile.