Basic Training: The First Eight Days

"SIR, I WILL NOT SPEAK UNLESS INSTRUCTED TO DO SO BY THE TRAINING INSTRUCTOR! SEVENTEEN!" Push-ups are fun. "SIR, I WILL NOT SPEAK UNLESS INSTRUCTED TO DO SO BY THE TRAINING INSTRUCTOR! EIGHTEEN!" Push-ups are great exercise. "SIR, I WILL NOT SPEAK UNLESS INSTRUCTED TO DO SO BY THE TRAINING INSTRUCTOR! NINETEEN!" Push-ups are a wonderful group activity on a sunny, late morning day. 'SIR, I WILL NOT SPEAK UNLESS INSTRUCTED TO DO SO BY THE TRAINING INSTRUCTOR! TWENTY!" Holding one's body in the extended push-up position after twenty by-the-book push-ups and yelling at the top of one's lungs at the top of every one of those by-the-book pushups.......well, that's just a priceless memory.

"GET UP!" yelled Sergeant Hart. "Now, we can have all kinds of fun just like this every time Wilcox graces us with his wit." If we weren't standing at attention and forced to look straight ahead we would have, all of us, gladly beaten Wilcox to a pulp as he stood there at attention next to Sergeant Hart. "GET YOUR ASS BACK IN FORMATION, WILCOX! MOVE IT, MOVE IT, MOVE IT!" So ended another lesson in teamwork as practiced in the United States Air Force. When one member screws up, we are all screwed.

It was only our first day in basic training, and so far our interaction with all members of the Air Force had involved a lot of screaming and a lot of yelling and a lot of threatening and a lot of psychological terror. All of the screaming and yelling masked the real objective of Air Force Basic Training: psychological breakdown. The individual had to be broken down, psychologically, as an individual in order that a team may be built from the individual parts; a team that is much stronger and much more effective than the sum of its parts.

We weren't thinking about this goal when we were hustled into the barracks with our first issue of shiny new uniforms and equipment. We were thinking about keeping our mouths shut and our ears open. The T.I.s had a lot to teach us and failure to comprehend on our part was an invitation to up close and personal attention from the T.I.s and their well-exercised vocal cords.

There was a lot to learn and a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it. We had our whole civilian lives and personas to shed, and we started by handing over almost every item that we had brought from home. These items were locked away in a storage room on the second floor of the barracks and would not be seen again until right around graduation day. And on that first morning, graduation was a long, long, long way away.

We got to it. Our uniforms and equipment were explained to us. We were taught to fold and hang our uniform issue to Air Force standards, with no wrinkles, no dust, no blemishes, and no mistakes. A footlocker that was not properly formatted and ready for inspection was overturned, its contents spilling across the barracks floor. A wall locker that was not in perfect order had its contents strewn across that same floor. Those of us who had chosen boxers over briefs learned the error of our ways when, no matter how hard they tried, they could not keep wrinkles from forming in their underwear as it lay in their footlocker awaiting inspection.

We learned to arrange our shaving gear and our tooth gear to display in the top of our footlocker in the approved, and required, Air Force manner. We also learned that these items were to be dry and free of hair and all other debris at all times. Now, unless you've been through basic training, you really don't know just how impossible it is to use a razor and keep it one hundred percent clean and dry for inspection. Necessity. Mother. Of. Invention. Our flight's solution to the problem was the same as every preceeding flight's solution.

We had one person who was put in charge of the storage room and supply room. I don't remember what the official designation was, but I vaguely recall the term "house mom" being bandied about. This person became the unofficial, off-the-books, keeper of the communal shaving gear; a couple of razors and a can or two of shaving cream that was hidden in the storage room and saw the light of day first thing every morning when the whole flight hit the showers and the latrine. It took a couple of days for us to figure it out, but we did figure it out, just like every flight that preceded us.

The only way we could keep our personal gear and communal latrine clean in the time alotted while still maintaining personal hygiene according to Air Force standards was to use one or two of everything....for the whole flight. That meant one or two razors were used. One or two sinks were used. One urinal was used. Two shower heads were used. One toilet was used. God help the fool who used one of the sinks kept in pristine inspection condition. Woe betide the hapless moron who took a leak in any urinal other than the designated urinal. And you don't even want to think about what would happen to the knucklehead who desecrated any toilet other than the designated toilet.

Now, a Basic Military Training Flight at that time consisted of forty to fifty people. In the beginning, it was no easy task to work out the logistics involved in cycling forty to fifty people through the morning bathroom ritual using one or two razors, one or two sinks, one toilet, one urinal, and two shower heads. It took a system, and it took teamwork. We did it. We did it in teams.

Two guys shaving at a time, which took very little time because most of us were lucky if we had peach fuzz. Two guys in the showers, one shower head per guy, with two more guys ready to jump in as soon as the other two were finished, which was quickly. The showers were turned on, adjusted, and left on until the last two guys were finished. No time was wasted adjusting temperature to individual tastes. If you didn't like it hot or cold or luke warm or whatever the temperature of the day was, too bad. Get over it and move on because we just don't have the time to care. Later, we learned to shower at night. One guy at a urinal at a time. Get in. Get it done. Shake it once. Move the hell out of the way. And those of us who needed to use the toilet in the morning learned to shift that need to the evening when we were shining boots, studying manuals, practicing salutes and doing anything rather than rushing around hellbent for leather to get out into formation while leaving an inspection-ready barracks behind us.

We learned how to mark our uniforms with our shiny new stencil kits. We learned how to polish our boots. We were given our Air Force manuals to read and memorize. We were introduced to Air Force Regulation Thirty Five dash Ten, which explained in great detail the proper grooming and uniform standards that we would be required to learn and uphold.

We learned how to make up our bunks with the blanket and sheets so tight that we actually could bounce a quarter off of it, just like in the movies and television shows. Some of us also learned how to slide into our bunks and sleep with very little movement, so that when we woke up we could pull our bedding tightly into regulation with just a couple of quick movements. Some of us never learned how to do that. One guy in particular always had a disaster piled around his bunk when he woke up in the morning. He made it to graduation, but he was almost always the last one out to formation and almost always received a little extra attention from the T.I.s

And one thing you never, ever wanted to do, especially in those early days of the Four Hundred Crazed Screaming Banshees was to attract the attention of one of the T.I.s to your individual personal self. We learned this quickly in the barracks, when we were all in our brand new shiny uniforms, and Sergeant Hart and Sergeant Walters stopped yelling at us long enough to engage us in conversation.

"I like to bowl. Who here likes to bowl?" asked Sgt. Hart. A smattering of hands went up. Obviously, these guys had not been told by experienced relatives to blend in, don't stand out, keep in the middle, and whatever you do, don't...don't....don't volunteer. Just don't. "Well, I think I've got a bowling team here. Yessir, I do, indeed," said Sgt. Hart. "But, who's the best bowler?" asked Sgt. Walters. Sgt. Hart turned to the "bowling team" and asked, "Well, who is it? Who's the best bowler here?" A couple of the hands went down, but it was too late. "Well, that is just dandy. Just dandy, indeed. I got me a team to clean toilets and YOU....." he pointed to one of the sad sacks still holding up his hand, " are my LATRINE QUEEN!" The latrine queen's job was to make sure that the bowling team kept the latrine sparkling and in inspection condition at all times. He's the guy who organized the morning bathroom ritual for the flight and set the rules for what could and could not be used.

And so it went. The guys who had met a Chinese person in their lives became the laundry team. The guy who was on the track team in high school became the chow runner. The guys who admitted knowing how to turn a flashlight on and off became road guards. The tallest guys became squad leaders. The tallest of the tallest was the flight leader. Everybody was assigned to something. After a while, it didn't matter whether your hand went up or not. Even those of us trying to remain inconspicuous were chosen for some job or another.

We filled out paperwork. Lots of paperwork. We designated bank accounts for Direct Deposit of our paychecks, or we chose to receive physical paychecks. We learned about our Leave and Earnings Statements, or LES. We learned how to stand at attention, how to respond to commands, what the commands would sound like, how to wear our uniforms, how to salute, and how to march. We started learning everything we would need to know to succeed in the Air Force. And we got yelled at a lot for just about everything or nothing at all.

We were standing at attention at the chow hall waiting for our turn to go in. We did a lot of that throughout basic training. Hurry up and wait was the mantra. It was a mantra that carried on throughout every military career. Sergeant Hart's lips were half an inch from my right ear as I stared straight ahead. Sgt. Hart was questioning my ancestry, my intelligence, my manhood, and my apparent willingness to be a waste of air and food. Apparently, and to this day I don't see how this is possible, I had neglected to shave one hair that was poking out at my jawline. I don't see how this is possible because when I entered Air Force basic training I was a bare chested virgin. I had no hairs to shave, except for eyebrows. None. Sgt. Hart disagreed. He talked about my mother and my grandmother and wondered aloud how they could have produced such a worthless waste of the space I was standing in.

The next day I scraped my face raw and bloody in an attempt to remove the offending hair. Sgt. Hart had some choice words for my shaving skill that day, too. By the time I got out of the Air Force, I had a thick beard to shave every morning, all because Sgt. Hart made me shave my hairless face in basic training. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

Sgt. Hart was just doing his job, though. He had to break down the individual and build a brand new team member. Not everybody made it. It's not widely known outside of the military, but the first part of boot camp, the first eight days in the case of the Air Force, is mostly about figuring out who is going to stay and who is going to go. And, while it may not have seemed so at the time, it really was easy to get out of the Air Force in those first eight days. Maybe the recruit just was not cut out to be in the military. Maybe he just was never going to be team material. Maybe it just wasn't what he thought he wanted. Maybe he had circumstances at home that wouldn't permit him to stay in the Air Force. For those people there was an Administrative Discharge. No harm. No foul. It was as though you were never there.

Our flight started out with about 48 guys. By the end of the first eight days, we were down to about 42 or 43 guys. The circumstances were different for each guy who left. One guy had a family situation. One guy had a previously undisclosed health issue. One guy went around the bend and tried to run away. One guy was an unrepentant smart-ass who thought he was the hero who shows up the T.I. in the movie about basic training that was running through his head. One guy just wanted out and wanted out bad.

In each case, Sgt. Hart or Sgt. Walters told the recruit to "follow me", led the recruit to the Orderly Room, and got the process started to administratively discharge the recruit. Simple as that. Goodbye. No hard feelings. Nice meeting you. We had just learned their names and now they were gone, never to be seen again by our flight.

By the end of the first eight days, we had forgotten their names. We had a lot to learn and we had a lot to do in this, the first eight days of Air Force basic training.