Coast
Guard Boot
Camp;
Some Things You Never Forget!
By Chuck
Kircher
There
was an earlier and more innocent time when a viable choice to take to ‘find
yourself’ was military service. Of course, there was also the ever present
threat of the Draft. And so it was that I found myself on May 13th, 1958,
raising my right hand along with four other newly-turned eighteen year olds
swearing to defend the Constitution of the United States. For the next four
years, our butts belonged to the United States Coast Guard. We vaguely knew what
the service was all about but as for bootcamp, well, that was shrouded in
folklore and myth.
At
Grand Central Station in New York we boarded the train which would take us
literally and figuratively to a entirely different world. The train relentlessly
moved South and we nervously exchanged hearsay stories about bootcamp. None of
it was reassuring.
As
we piled off the train at Cape May, N.J., there was a group of young guys who
looked every bit as lost as I. A bus with U.S. Coast Guard emblazoned across the
side was waiting. A Petty Officer, clipboard in hand, checked off our names and
said that we had to wait for some more recruits who were coming on a later
train. He advised that if we had any meal chits left we should use them at the
closest restaurant as it would be the last civilian meal we would enjoy for a
while. Did this generate apprehension? You
bet.
The
next train came in; more guys disembarked and the yelling started. No more Mr.
Nice Guy. Line up here; put your bags there; dress right -- What??? About face; load up. And we were on our way. I had a
sinking feeling in my heart, ‘What had I gotten myself into.’
At
the Training Center, the yelling continued and everyone was confused. Was this
intentional? They marched us (as
well as we could march) to the mess hall for hot dogs and sauerkraut but no one
was really hungry. Then it was to the barracks where Chief Hutchinson introduced
himself and his assistant and announced that we were Lima-35. He told us to grab
a blanket and a pillow and assigned us to bunks alphabetically. ‘Get a good
night’s sleep,’ he advised, ‘For tomorrow, training started in earnest.’.
Yeah right!!! Who could sleep?
Morning
broke like thunder. No melodious music from clock radios or the pleasant nudge
from Mom, but the cacophony of a mop handle run around the inside of an empty
trash can and loud exhortations to hit the deck running. Quick ablutions and
then double time to breakfast. Uniform issue was next with more yelling, more
confusion. Clothes and shoes were issued that didn't all fit. We were told that
we would have to take everything now and exchange them later if they didn't fit
-- an outright lie. What we signed for was ours for keeps. Our civilian clothes,
jewelry (we could keep a watch) and any other personal items were thrown in a
box to be sent home. It was the final break with our past lives. Then the
dreaded haircut and we all became a baldheaded look alike unit. As the locks
fell to the floor, our individuality, pride and attitude went with them.
From
then on it was marching, calisthenics, marching, eating, marching, cleaning,
marching, classroom, marching, sleeping to be followed tomorrow by more of the
same. Is there a common factor here? We
were swiftly introduced to the nautical vocabulary of the sea --
fore, aft, port, starboard. Stairways were ladders; doors became hatches;
windows, portholes; floors, decks and ceilings, overhead. It was like an
initiation into a special club and we were learning the secret code. Soon we
were talking like old salts though there wasn’t an, ‘Avast, maties,’ in
the entire list.
For
many boots in the company this was their first time away from home and they
chaffed under the stern discipline and lack of freedom. I had just finished four
years at a Catholic boarding school and was used to discipline and regimentation.
Chief Hutchinson, stern as he was, could not compare to the good Fathers. They
had utilized the threat of eternal damnation and the overpowering burden of
guilt, and wielded this double-edged sword
with the ferocity of an avenging Archangel. A daunting combination honed
to keep young boys in line. Little wonder that I found this part of bootcamp
relatively easy.
One
day seemed much as the next as we improved our marching, strengthened our bodies
and became immersed in the Coast Guard way of doing things. Our marching was
never great and try as he would, the Chief Hutchinson felt many had two left
feet. Some of us would even get together during the few moments of free time we
had to practice. Can you believe that? But
the ones who needed it, didn't practice. On a dark day as we were marching in
front of the barracks, the Commander of another company started barking orders
and, like sheep, we all followed. When he was done and feeling smug, I looked
over to Chief Hutchinson and realized that he was crestfallen. Sadly, he took us
into the barracks and explained in a stern voice what we had just done. We had
let another Commander take over the company. He detailed to us the necessity of
being loyal to those who are in charge. In time of war and battle, we must
follow the orders of our immediate superior and by flapping in the wind we
jeopardized both ourselves and our mission. With that he turned and walked away
and you could just see the heavy burden on his shoulders. I was embarrassed at
what I had been party to. But next day things were back to normal and we never
made that mistake again.
Early in training I found myself and several other of the
smallest guys in the company volunteered to be our company's entry in the weekly
lifeboat race. I looked at the rest of Lima-35
and saw guys who towered over me but who had some lame excuse as to why they
couldn't row. Anyway I and my
cohorts were stuck. Every morning we would have to go down to the boathouse and
practice rowing while everyone else had some free time. We would row and row and
on Friday afternoon would be the big race. Each company would have an entry and
I swear they all were bigger than us. And we would row our hearts out to no
avail. The best we ever did was a second place showing. But we were damn proud
of that.
Part
of training was two weeks of KP. I was assigned to the time honored task of
peeling potatoes and making salads. One afternoon in the wild frenzy of slicing
and dicing massive quantities of vegetables, my watch slipped unnoticed into the
vast sea of salad. I didn't notice till later that it was gone and never saw it
again. Someone got a nice prize in their mixed salad that rivaled a box of
Cracker Jacks. The reward for KP duty was a weekend liberty. When we went to the
OOD's office no liberty passes were forthcoming. A lot of frantic calls and
Chief Hutchinson came to the rescue. We were oh so grateful.
We
also had to stand watches for a week. I was assigned to the brig and had to pass
out the clocks the other guys had to punch while making their rounds. I also had
to attend to the few prisoners we had. One evening the PO in charge of the brig
let some of the guys out of their cells to have some exercise and stretch. One
of them made a break for the door and ran right past me. I took off after him,
wondering what the hell I was going to do if I caught up with him. The only way
off the base without going through the main gate was to head for the beach and
swim through the surf around a fence. That's where this guy was heading. I
yelled after him that he was going to make things worse for himself if he kept
going. As he approached the beach, he slowed down and stopped. He decided what
he was doing was stupid so he gave up. I didn't know what to do, so I grapped
his arm; assured him he was doing the right thing and we headed back. The PO
gave this guy a tongue lashing, nothing was said to me and I never heard
anything about it after that. I think the PO by letting the guys out was
breaking the rules himself and didn't want anyone to find out.
During
the last few weeks, things didn't seem so hectic and we were looking forward to
going either to the Districts or advanced schools. For me, I still had to face
the dreaded swimming test. I was a city boy and had never learned how to swim. I
did the best I could though, during the lifesaving portion of the test I wasn't
sure whether the victim was saving me or I him. I passed and was glad that was
over with. I love the ocean but I’d rather be on it than in it.
We
all graduated and the Chief gave us a rousing pep talk. We realized now that
everything he had done was done with a purpose in mind and he truly had a heart
of gold. For those who had problems he went out of his way to pull them through.
Some he couldn't help and they flunked out but they were few. He welcomed us
into the Guard and we thanked him for his help. We had bought him a watch and,
in a scene I'm sure I've seen in a movie (The Caine Mutiny, I think), he put the
watch down on the office desk and explained to us that it was against the rules
to accept a gift. Then, as he turned to leave, he picked up the watch and said,
'Geez, someone lost a watch. Whoever it was, thanks.' And he left.
I went on to ET school, a weather Cutter in the Pacific and a primary radio station. The Coast Guard is one of my most cherished memories. It is where I learned my capabilities and developed a sense of leadership and independence. I also met lifelong friends and my wife of 37 years. I never saw the Chief again but I've never forgotten him. Wherever you are Chief, ‘Thanks!’