Neubarth
At the Ballpark July 30th
When in Navy bootcamp in the summer of 1967, the "kids" came to form our company from all parts of the nation. They are all kids to me now as I look back on our Boot Camp company photo. Those were all faces of boys who were pretending to be grown up men. Most of us were on the edge of the "world of men," but had not quite made it yet.)
There were kids from New York City and the north east. There were southerners and midwesterners and (dilligaf) westcoasters (me) and immigrant Filipinos (who for the most part were the best educated of the lot).
Within a couple of days, we had almost no distinctive hair and clothing. For the white boys (about 70% of the company) our faces were all turning brown because we were marching all over that base in the hot summer sun going from our haircuts to tailors who took our measurements for uniforms, to testing to see just how many of us were really idiots (The recruiters had slipped some dumb ones in on us to make their quotas).
We marched and marched and marched. We marched everywhere and eventually were all in step and learned to march like a company. (A company of men when in lock step marching past you makes an impressive most distinctive sound that is bold and yet impressive because of its order.) The only relaxation that we could have in between all of our different places that we marched to was a "cigarette break." If we were waiting outside to enter a building the smokers in the company were occasionally granted permission to "smoke one."
You could move to the side sit down on anything in the designated area for smoking that would support the weight of your buttocks and smoke a cigarette, otherwise you had to wait in formation. It did not take long for the effects of such a policy to ring a bell in your head. (Stand in formation or sit and smoke). I became a smoker by the second day. Just like Clinton, I did not inhale.
Boot camp was fun for other reasons. We had language differences between the late adolescent boys (Young men) because we don't speak a uniform English in these United States. I was an RCPO in my company (Recruit Chief Petty Officer -- I still have my patch for my uniform) The APO-1 of the company (The number two recruit by authority in the company.) was a boy (about 22) who hailed from Macon, Georgia. Behind his back all the other guys called him "Macon Bacon" as he was a little bit chunky, like a pig.
Well, Macon Bacon and I and about three others were smoking our cigarettes during a smoke break when the conversation came up about what we were going to do on our boot camp liberty. A couple of the older young guys said that they were going to go downtown and get a woman for money because they needed a woman real bad.
Macon Bacon piped up in a nasal southern twang, "I'm gonna go out and get me a whole lot of cock and just ride it all night long."
We all backed away from him and our company clerk (a guy we called Maggot) finally spoke for the rest of us guys and said, "What the hell, are you telling us you're a fuggin faggot?" (Cock, to us meant a man's fun equipment.)
The APO-1 appeared to be startled and did not speak.
Then another guy immediately interjected, "That is southern talk. They are all fugged up down there. They think that a pussy is a cat, and nukki is a cock. "
Nevertheless for the rest of bootcamp, nobody ever wanted to take a shower in our large open shower room (Shower nozzles on all four walls with no privacy) when Macon Bacon was in there. We just were not too sure about him.
There were kids from New York City and the north east. There were southerners and midwesterners and (dilligaf) westcoasters (me) and immigrant Filipinos (who for the most part were the best educated of the lot).
Within a couple of days, we had almost no distinctive hair and clothing. For the white boys (about 70% of the company) our faces were all turning brown because we were marching all over that base in the hot summer sun going from our haircuts to tailors who took our measurements for uniforms, to testing to see just how many of us were really idiots (The recruiters had slipped some dumb ones in on us to make their quotas).
We marched and marched and marched. We marched everywhere and eventually were all in step and learned to march like a company. (A company of men when in lock step marching past you makes an impressive most distinctive sound that is bold and yet impressive because of its order.) The only relaxation that we could have in between all of our different places that we marched to was a "cigarette break." If we were waiting outside to enter a building the smokers in the company were occasionally granted permission to "smoke one."
You could move to the side sit down on anything in the designated area for smoking that would support the weight of your buttocks and smoke a cigarette, otherwise you had to wait in formation. It did not take long for the effects of such a policy to ring a bell in your head. (Stand in formation or sit and smoke). I became a smoker by the second day. Just like Clinton, I did not inhale.
Boot camp was fun for other reasons. We had language differences between the late adolescent boys (Young men) because we don't speak a uniform English in these United States. I was an RCPO in my company (Recruit Chief Petty Officer -- I still have my patch for my uniform) The APO-1 of the company (The number two recruit by authority in the company.) was a boy (about 22) who hailed from Macon, Georgia. Behind his back all the other guys called him "Macon Bacon" as he was a little bit chunky, like a pig.
Well, Macon Bacon and I and about three others were smoking our cigarettes during a smoke break when the conversation came up about what we were going to do on our boot camp liberty. A couple of the older young guys said that they were going to go downtown and get a woman for money because they needed a woman real bad.
Macon Bacon piped up in a nasal southern twang, "I'm gonna go out and get me a whole lot of cock and just ride it all night long."
We all backed away from him and our company clerk (a guy we called Maggot) finally spoke for the rest of us guys and said, "What the hell, are you telling us you're a fuggin faggot?" (Cock, to us meant a man's fun equipment.)
The APO-1 appeared to be startled and did not speak.
Then another guy immediately interjected, "That is southern talk. They are all fugged up down there. They think that a pussy is a cat, and nukki is a cock. "
Nevertheless for the rest of bootcamp, nobody ever wanted to take a shower in our large open shower room (Shower nozzles on all four walls with no privacy) when Macon Bacon was in there. We just were not too sure about him.
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