Some Snapshots of History

A Look Back at Army Basic Training in 1963

This is a bit different from my normal Substack post. It is a personal account of snippets of my time in Army basic training in 1963. Although I focus on some personal experiences, I am not trying to make some larger point. It is just a snapshot of history some sixty years ago. Things are different now and most of my experiences probably would not be duplicated today. But that is part of the fun of history — looking back at how different things were then.

MY FIRST CONTACT WITH MY SOON-TO-BE-BUDDIES – I entered Army basic training in the Fall of 1963, after enlisting in Dallas. I said goodby to my girlfriend and prepared to report to the Dallas airport. My first introduction to those who would become part of my basic training company took place in the airport. In 1963 DFW did not exist. The Dallas airport was Love Field, located in what is now metropolitan Dallas. I had an airline ticket that had been given to me the day before by the Army recruiter. Other than a shaving kit and my travel orders, that was about all I carried. There were no military personnel at the airport shepherding us or telling us where to go. It was my responsibility to show up on time on time and get myself on a plane to Alexandria, Louisiana, where we would be picked up and bused to Fort Polk.

I arrived at the airport that morning, somewhat bleary-eyed from being up late the night before. All I wanted to do was grab a short nap before our flight was called. I spotted an empty chair between two sort of rough-looking characters but didn’t pay them any mind. I plopped down, pulled my hat over my eyes, and went to sleep.

Later I got to know both these fellows during basic training. As it turns out, they were quite impressed with me (in a funny sort of way) from this innocuous first encounter at the airport. To understand why, you need to get some idea of who these guys were and what they were like. They had both joined the army because they were given an option by a Texas judge: Join the Army or go to prison.

As I was preparing this, almost 60 years later, I could not remember their names. But I pulled out my basic training “yearbook” and recognized one of them. He was Tom McGee. Tom was tall, maybe six feet two or so, with very closely cropped light brown hair. Because his hair was so light and short, you could see through to his scalp, which was covered with scars. He later told me that they were scars from being hit in the head with Billy clubs by the Dallas police. In the then-typical “hood” (short for “hoodlum”) style, he wore his collar with the back turned up, even when in uniform (as long no sergeants were around). Also, in the hood style of the day, he always carried a package of cigarettes rolled up in the sleeve of his T-shirt.

I cannot recognize or recall the other man now, these sixty years later, but he was about my height, with dark hair swept back in the style that had been made popular by Elvis Presley, known as a “ducktail.” Ducktails featured long side hair, which was swept back to the middle of the back of the head, with the ends turned slightly up so that it resembled the curled tail feathers of a Mallard drake. The whole thing was kept in place by ample layers of grease and was the hairstyle most favored by hoods. Think of Fonzi in the TV show “Happy Days,” and you have a picture of this fellow. Only he wasn’t very funny to most people.

These two characters had made a game out of sitting with one empty seat between them. Even though there was a shortage of available seats in the boarding area and people were standing, no one wanted to take the seat between these two disreputable-looking characters. They left the seat open intentionally to see if anyone would sit between them. They were so scary looking to normal people that no one would sit down between them. Tom and “Fonzi” thought that was hilarious. It was the equivalent today of someone wanting to take an available seat but being terrified of sitting between two Hells Angels. So, when I arrived at the gate area, plopped down in the seat right between them, and then promptly went to sleep, they were at least astounded, if not in awe, that anyone would have that degree of sang froid. Of course, I had no idea of any of this, being oblivious to the game that they were playing. They laughed and told me about it several weeks later after we had become friends during basic training. One of the good things about basic training then was the leveling process. I became friends with a lot of guys with whom I never would have interacted previously.

At the Reception Station – Before enlisting in the Army, I had been in the Marine Corps reserves and had completed a summer of boot camp at Quantico, in the Marine Corps PLC (Platoon Leaders Course). The Marines have, to put it mildly, a different way of doing things.

In the Marine Corps, the s**t hits the fan immediately the moment you get off the bus and are met by your welcoming drill instructor. What I did not know was that the Army’s initial process was somewhat different. Before reporting to our basic training company, which would be our home for the next three months, we were first in-processed at the “reception station.” There we got our haircuts, shots, uniforms, military identification cards, and completed other administrative requirements before reporting to our basic training company where we would meet our drill sergeants and our real military training would begin.

Although I was a little taken aback by the absence of screaming and frothing-at-the-mouth drill sergeants when we arrived at the reception station, I did not yet fully appreciate the difference between the Marine Corps and the Army approaches. That led to a humorous incident on day two at the reception station. As a result of my prior service, I already had the necessary shots, which were documented on my shot record, and did not need to go to the infirmary with all the other recruits to get shots. I also had a Marine Corps identification card, but needed an Army ID. So, one of the sergeants who was charged with herding us around, pulled me aside and instructed me to report to another building where I was to turn in my Marine Corps ID card and get an Army ID issued to me.

The building to which I had to report was about 1/4 mile away. These buildings were lightly constructed wooden frame buildings that were built near the beginning of World War II to accommodate the millions of men who had to undergo basic training. This particular building was one story tall, measuring perhaps 25 by 80 feet in size. They had been built as temporary buildings in the early ‘40s, but were still in full use 20 years later.

I double-timed up to the designated building and stopped at the threshold to the entrance door. Still thinking that I was in a system like that of the Marine Corps, I knew that some hard-ass sergeant inside was waiting for me to do something stupid, like just opening the door and going in, or perhaps politely knocking on the door like a normal human being. Therefore, I determined that I would show these guys that I was not some wet-behind-the-ears civilian rookie, but that I was a veteran who knew how to conduct himself properly in a military environment.

So, squaring myself up directly in front of the door, I leaned back and, just as I had been taught to do by the Marine Corps, pounded smartly on the door jamb with a closed fist. I did not say anything, as you were not expected to announce yourself until you were given the command, “Enter!” I pounded on the door three times, as I had been taught, but did not get any response. That was OK — I understood the game: They were pretending that they didn’t hear me. So, tensing my muscles and leaning back in order to put my full body into the force of the blows, I pounded on the door again, three more times. The windows were rattling in the old temporary building. At that point I heard some shuffling and indistinct noises from inside, but that was all. I waited for the command, “Enter!” but still heard nothing. At this point I thought to myself, “Man, these guys are tough. The Marines at least would by now be acknowledging my presence by shouting something like, ‘Who’s that little p***y tapping on my door? Can’t you do any better than that?’”

Aware, by now, that I was dealing with some truly tough cookies inside, I leaned back again and put all of the force that I could muster into three more resounding blows against the door jamb. Again, the windows rattled, the walls of the old temporary building shook, and I heard more noise from inside that sounded almost like furniture being overturned. I waited. Still no verbal response.

Somehow sensing that something might not be quite right, I cracked open the door and peered inside. The interior of the building was one large room with a counter at the far-left end. The rest of the room was occupied, by card tables and chairs. There were perhaps twenty such tables in the room. Underneath each table was a woman or maybe two, some clutching small children.

As it turned out I was the only soldier who was there to get a new military ID. All the other customers were soldiers’ wives and their children, who were getting their own dependents’ ID cards. By this point it was beginning to dawn on me that the standard protocol for reporting in the Marine Corps was different than that at the Army reception station.

Undeterred, I realized that the line of people at the counter waiting their turn to get their ID cards had dissipated. That was because everyone was terrified by the pounding on the door and was sheltering in place under the card tables. So, I walked to the head of the now non-existent line and promptly got a new Army identification card.

A day or two later I reported to my basic training company. There the regime began to resemble Marine Corps boot camp a little more. I have to say that bootcamp was more intense and intimidating then Army basic training, but that just reflects the different styles.

Platoon Sergeant Homer Waters – When we arrived at our basic training company, which was Company O, 3d Battalion, 1st Training Regiment, the drill instructor in charge of my platoon was Platoon Sergeant (E-7) Homer Waters. Like most other senior NCO’s during that time, Sergeant Waters was a Korean War Veteran. He had been awarded a silver star. He later served in Vietnam with the 1st Cavalry, where he was seriously wounded and won a second silver star.

Sergeant Waters’ approach was different than that of Marine Corps drill instructors. He was a strict disciplinarian and tolerated no nonsense. But I do not recall him ever yelling at anyone. He may have but if he did, it was infrequent enough that I cannot recall it. He just set the standards and expected us to meet them. A private is never a close personal friend of his drill sergeant, but Sergeant Waters and I formed a good working relationship and, as I shall discuss below, reconnected later in our careers. He was a fine man and a great soldier.

Boxing and the tough guys – In basic training, there was a shortage of Drill Sergeants. We had only Sergeant Waters for our platoon. To assist him, they appointed a basic trainee as the “Platoon Guide” and four other trainees as “trainee squad leaders.” In the first days of basic, I was identified as someone with (limited) prior service, so they made me the Platoon Guide for our platoon.

These trainee leadership positions actually involved a fair amount of authority and responsibility. As the Platoon Guide, I wore a black armband with three chevrons, indicative of sergeant’s rank. The other trainees were required to address me as “Sergeant Lucas.” And they did. But after putting on the arm band, you had to earn their respect.

Sergeant Waters did not have an assistant drill sergeant and could not be around all the time as he was married and went home most evenings. So, to keep things running smoothly in his absence and to enforce discipline, I had to establish myself and become accepted as the day-to-day leader of the platoon when Sergeant Waters was not around. As you might imagine, these trainee leadership positions presented a real leadership challenge. We were all peers who had been civilians a short time before, and some of the men were pretty tough characters. But those of us who were elevated to platoon guide or squad leader over the others were expected to help enforce discipline within our units, including over the tough guys, like my friends Tom and “Fonzi,” who were in the Army at the “suggestion” of a judge. Some might be jealous or simply unwilling to accept orders from other trainees. So, to function effectively, you had to establish what amounted to “street cred.” Given the nature of things, this meant that you not only had to demonstrate competence and physical fitness but might have to show that you could back up your authority with your fists, if necessary.

I had several chances – needs, really – to do that but the best one was actually sanctioned by the commander. Our battalion commander, Major Samuel Smith, had accepted a challenge from another battalion commander to an inter-unit boxing match. Each battalion was to select ten or so trainees to fight it out in the Ft. Polk boxing ring. Major Smith promised that everyone who won their match would receive a three-day pass. I was one of the fighters representing our battalion. I had a tough fight but won a decision on points. That was the good news. The bad news that my win was only one of two by our battalion. Major Smith apparently was so angry at the overall poor showing, that he reneged on his promise to give three-day passes to those of who won our matches. Another lesson in (bad) leadership. But my victory in the ring was our battalion’s first win of the night and my platoon swarmed the ringside after the decision was announced and carried me on their shoulders to the locker room. My cred was established.

Miscellaneous Memories and the Death of President Kennedy – These many years later, most of basic training is a blur and I can only recall snapshots of a few memorable things. Some only merit brief mention here. These include the night infiltration course, where we had to roll out of a trench and crawl some distance through the mud (it was raining), with machine guns firing just over our heads and blocks of TNT exploding as we crawled by them, the known-distance rifle range, where we fired at a 16-inch (guessing here) bullseye at ranges from 100 to 500 yards, and repeated bayonet drills where in response to the shouted question, “What is the spirit of the bayonet?” we all shouted back, in unison, “To kill! To kill!”). I think that likely would offend some of the wokesters running the Army today, even though it sums up the mission of the infantry.

One other memory that has stayed with me was November 22, 1963. Everyone who was of age then remembers where they were on that day. It was a Friday and was the first day of a scheduled multi-day bivouac in the woods of Ft. Polk. To get to the bivouac area we did a road march of maybe 12-15 miles (guessing here), with rifles and full field gear. I recall that we were marching on a dirt road and had stopped for a rest break at a road intersection. A jeep pulled up in a cloud of dust and someone got out and walked over to talk to our First Sergeant. First Sergeant Bert Wilson called everyone together and told us that President Kennedy had been killed and that our bivouac was being called off. I recall walking over to a small knoll next to the road intersection, kneeling down and offering a short prayer for President Kennedy. We then marched back to our barracks and did not have any training for several days, probably until the funeral was over. Even though the funeral was televised, we did not have any access to it.

The Fake Lieutenant and Rough Justice– Late in our basic training cycle, with only a week or so to go before graduation, we were briefed on a problem that had developed in our section of Fort Polk. It seems that an enlisted soldier was impersonating an officer, which was a violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. This phony lieutenant was walking around and essentially playing the “big man” by harassing recruits, making them do push-ups and engaging in other abusive activity. Apparently, he fed his ego by bullying and humiliating trainees. We were cautioned to be on the alert for this guy. There was no specific identifying information about him, just that he was a young, enlisted man who put on lieutenant’s bars as part of his charade.

By this time in the training cycle, we had a few privileges. One of those was the freedom some nights to go to a nearby enlisted men’s club where we could shoot pool, read magazines, play ping pong, watch TV, or whatever. One evening I went there with two of my friends, John Tillery and Jamie Kendrick.

The three of us were shooting pool and another soldier came into the room and watched us for a while. He left but then returned after just a few minutes. This time he had two buddies with him. I immediately noticed something different about his uniform. He was now wearing a lieutenant’s bar. But I could immediately tell it was fake, because he was not wearing his rank insignia properly. Instead of having the lieutenant’s bar pinned parallel to the edge of his collar, it was perpendicular. Not to mention that just moments before he was not even wearing it.

I immediately confronted him and told him that we knew he was impersonating an officer (which was a violation of military law and could subject him to a court-martial) and that we were calling the MPs. Either John or Jamie tried to go to the NCO in charge of the club to use the phone. (Of course, this was about forty years before everyone had cell phones.)

At this point, Mr. Fake Lieutenant and his two buddies realized they were in trouble but tried to keep up their charade. They started walking casually toward the door to make their getaway. We followed them. As they walked down the steps, they were whispering to each other. We told them to stop because the MPs were coming. They immediately split up and ran in three different directions. I set off after Fake Lieutenant but initially was about 40-50 yards behind him. We ran over the hill that the club sat on and were headed in the direction of our company area. As we passed through our company area, I was gaining on him, probably only about 10-15 yards behind him by then.

Fake Lieutenant realized that he could not outrun me, so he decided to change tactics. Our company area was bounded on the east side by a paved street. Our battalion headquarters building sat immediately across the street. It was one of the small “temporary” wooden buildings, much like the one where I got my Army ID issued. As Fake Lieutenant crossed the street and came onto the sidewalk leading to the door of the battalion headquarters, he again tried to resume his charade of being an officer (as if an officer would have been running from a slick-sleeved private). He slowed to a walk and tried to nonchalantly walk up to the entry door of the building. He clearly was making a last-ditch effort to appear to be an officer who was just casually walking up to the door of the headquarters where he supposedly worked. The only problem for him was that he had been running from me for at least a quarter mile, it was about 2200 hours (10:00 pm), and the building was totally dark except for a fire light over the door. He must have realized what a dumb move this was because he turned around and said something to me, still trying to pull off this charade. But since he was now cornered, I did not know what he would do next. He took a step toward me as if to walk away casually. I was not going to move and did not know if he would try to shove or knock me over to resume his get-away. So, I whacked him in the ribs with my best left hook. I immediately followed it with another left hook to the jaw, and that was all she wrote. About this time, John and Jamie caught up with us. They had decided not to follow the other two culprits but to chase after Fake Lieutenant and me. Together we escorted him back to our company area. There we told the CQ (the “Charge of Quarters” who was the sergeant in charge of the company for the night) what had happened. The MPs soon arrived and hauled the guy away.

Of course, Sergeant Waters and everyone had heard about it by the time we saw them the next day. I got congratulations all around for apprehending the culprit. I thought that was the last of it, but I was wrong.

A day or two later we were engaged in some sort of training in our company area. We were behind our platoon barracks on the slight hill over which I had pursued Fake Lieutenant. In the middle of whatever training we were engaged in, a runner from the company orderly room came up and spoke with the sergeant who was in charge of the training. That sergeant then walked over and said that Tillery, Kendrick and I were ordered to report to the company orderly room, ASAP.

Now, an order to report to the orderly room could be routine or it could be a “big deal.” It might merely mean that you had just been assigned to a clean-up detail, but if that were the case, you would know about it ahead of time. An impromptu summons like this usually meant that something bad was up. And because the three of us had been summonsed together, it could only mean that it had something to do with the recent events involving Fake Lieutenant. Even though his prior actions were illegal, and he had gained some notoriety, I had hit him some pretty hard licks, which could be construed as an assault. It also could be construed as a violation of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So, I and the others were a bit apprehensive as we headed down the hill to the orderly room.

When we arrived, First Sergeant Wilson lined us up in a row, locked our heels and kept us standing at attention. He did not tell us to stand at ease or even parade rest. This did not bode well. Our apprehension increased. Then a real but unknown to us First lieutenant walked up. Now, you need to understand that in our world a First Lieutenant was a high-ranking officer. Both our company commander and our company executive officer were mere Second Lieutenants. In addition, this First Lieutenant looked very squared away and was even wearing a set of the coveted airborne wings. His military bearing and demeanor, combined with the jump wings and the stern look on his face, only fueled our apprehension.

The Lieutenant walked in front of the three of us standing at attention, with our heads and eyes straight to the front. He then said in an intimidating voice, “One of my men is in the hospital with three broken ribs and some f**ked-up dentures. I want to know which of you did it.” (It was so traumatic I can still remember his exact words.) I raised my right hand from the position of attention next to my thigh, so that my forearm was parallel to the ground with a closed fist. Then I said, “I did, Sir.” At that point the First Lieutenant broke into a smile, shook my extended hand, and said, “Good job, soldier. Congratulations.” Whew. Disaster averted.

Graduation Parade, Sergeant Collins and Two Generals – Upon completion of basic training, there were four awards to be made to individual soldiers. I do not recall what one of them was for, but the other three were for the best score on the physical fitness test, highest score on the rifle range, and one to be presented to the soldier who was designated as the outstanding basic trainee of the training cycle. As we approached graduation from basic training, I knew that I would receive the award for the highest score on the rifle range. I also had good scores on the physical fitness tests conducted so far and thought that I had a shot at getting the highest score on the final PT test. If so, and if I could also land the award for “outstanding trainee of the cycle,” I could sweep three of the four individual awards.

Much to my regret, I did not finish with the top PT score. I came in second place in our company. This was before the days of participation trophies and there were no trophies for second place. But I did learn that I also was to receive the award for outstanding basic trainee of the cycle, in addition to the award for the highest rifle range score. Two out of four wasn’t bad. I was formally presented the award for outstanding basic trainee by BG Flynn in his office but was to receive a trophy at the graduation parade.

Private Lucas receiving the award for Outstanding Basic Trainee of the Cycle, from Brigadier General Flynn. Flanked by Company Commander, 2 LT Bryan and Drill Sergeant, Platoon Sergeant Homer Waters

    The other two soldiers who were to receive awards and I were to receive our trophies and formal recognition at the graduation parade for our basic training class. We would not march in the parade and the pass-in-review. Instead, we would stand next to the reviewing stand where the General and other invited guests would sit. The Ft. Polk Commanding General would present our trophies to us, and we would then stand with him to take the review. As the parading troops marched by, they would be were given the command “Eyes right!” and would then salute those of us who were taking the review, i.e., the Commanding General, the three of us trainees who were receiving awards, and our company commander.

In the Army the preparation for anything important involves repeated rehearsals. Our graduation ceremony and parade were no exception. So, the day before graduation our company’s training consisted of a practice parade and a rehearsal of the ceremony where the Commanding General would present us with our awards. The General, of course, was much too busy to attend a rehearsal for a basic training graduation, and he had no doubt attended many before this. So, the rehearsal of the ceremony was really for our benefit, not his.

During the rehearsal the stand-in playing the part of the General was Sergeant (E- 5) Collins. We were instructed that as Sergeant/General Collins stopped in front of each of us, we were to smartly salute him with our right hand. Sergeant Collins then handed us a stick (which was a simulated trophy), which we were instructed to take with our left hand. We would then shake hands with the general, salute him again, and he would proceed to the next man in line. As he came in front of me to rehearse this sequence Sergeant Collins handed me a simulated trophy and we shook hands. He then looked me right in the eye and said, “Lucas, when the General shakes your hand make sure you give him a firm grip and look him right in the eye, because this is the closest you will ever get to a general!”

That was in the winter of 1963. Now, fast-forward to the winter of 1967-68. I was a cadet at West Point, engaged to Carol Kaine. I had spent the weekend at her parents’ house on Long Island and had to be back to West Point by 1800 hours (6:00 pm) on Sunday. Unfortunately, a massive snowstorm began on Saturday and dumped more than two feet of snow on Long Island. After such weekends Carol or her father, Major General Wally Kaine, normally drove me (and her brother, Wally, if he was there) back to West Point in time to make the evening meal formation. But, because of the amount of snow, we could not do that on this weekend because many of the roads were dangerous, if not impassable. So, because some of the roads on Long Island had been partially plowed by Sunday afternoon, Carol’s father said he would drive me to the nearest subway stop (which was somewhere in Queens) and I would take the train to Penn Station in Manhattan, and then catch a bus from the Port Authority Bus Terminal to West Point.

For some reason I had to travel back to West Point in uniform. I do not recall the exact reason now, but it may have been to save time by not having to change from civilian clothes into my uniform for the evening meal formation if travel was slow and time was tight. But for whatever reason, I was wearing my cadet gray uniform with my spit-shined black, uniform shoes. As we pulled up outside the subway station in Queens, the street had been plowed to allow cars to pass, but the snow was piled up next to the curb. It was a dirty, slushy mess, several feet wide and well over a foot deep. Getting out of the car and tromping through that mess was sure to ruin my freshly pressed dress-gray trousers, not to mention my highly polished shoes. So, Major General Kaine got out of the driver’s seat and came around to the passenger side where I was sitting. He was wearing a set of tall rubber boots, so he didn’t have to worry about the dirty snow and slush. He opened the passenger door, bent over at the waist, and ordered me to get on his back so that he could wade through the snow and slush and deposit me on the relatively clean sidewalk without getting my uniform messed up.

As Major General Wally Kane carried me on his back so that I would not ruin my shoes and uniform, I could not help but recall Sergeant Collins’ last instruction to me: “Lucas, look this general in the eye because this is the closest you will ever get to a general officer.” All I could think was, “If only Sergeant Collins could see me now!”

Sergeant Waters (again) – In the late summer of 1969, Carol and I reported to Fort Benning where I had begun the Infantry Officers’ Basic Course and would soon begin Ranger School. One weekend night we went to the annual Chattahoochee County Fair at the local fairgrounds. We were accompanied by one of my West Point classmates, Ed Kersey, and his wife. As we were walking down the dirt midway between rides, booths, and exhibits, I felt someone from behind punch me in the arm. Not too hard, but hard enough to get my attention. Not knowing who it was but knowing the kind of characters who sometimes populated such fairs and who may have consumed ample amounts of beer, I swung around quickly, prepared to protect my wife, if necessary, or to take any other steps required to defend us against some aggressive and obnoxious drunk. I spun around and saw the culprit standing four or five feet away. He said “Lucas?” Then it hit me: It was Sergeant Waters! It was almost six years since I had last seen him, I was only one of hundreds of trainees who went through basic training under him. But he recognized me walking down the midway at the Chattahoochee County State Fair!

We quickly started catching up and arranged to meet again at his house, which we did. During one of our conversations, he gave me an extraordinarily high compliment, one that I still value today. He said that of all the young, enlisted men that he had trained or met, I exemplified what he thought an enlisted soldier should be. Of course, by that time, I was a new Second Lieutenant, so I really wanted him to say that I exemplified his ideal of a good officer. Of course, Sergeant Waters never knew me as an officer, so that was a bit too much to hope for.

After I left Fort Benning, I lost touch with Sergeant Waters. I have tried to locate him since then but have not had any luck. Sergeant Waters remains one of the most memorable and even important people in my life, and I wish that I had been able to stay in touch with him.

So those are snapshots of a history of basic training in 1963. I hope you enjoyed it.