What soldier or sailor does not look back fondly at his initial experience in the United States Military? That’s right, I’m talking about that place where you were poked and prodded, screamed at, and generally led to believe that you could never shape up enough to be of any possible use in Uncle Sam’s Military.

Almost 36 years ago at the tender age of 18, I raised my right hand and took the oath of service to the United States Government and to this country for which it stands. This was in 1963. A lot of water has passed under the bridge since then, however I do not regret one minute of my service to my country.

There have been both good times and bad. There were the broken promises by the country I honored. There also have been many rewards. I’m not talking about my monthly pension nor am I talking about commissary or medical benefits. The rewards I received were more of the spirit, the joy of a job well done, the camaraderie of fellow sailors sharing arduous assignments, the thrill of discovering new places and meeting people whose customs and backgrounds were very different from mine. For me as a sailor, there was always the Sea. I spent many a starry night camped out on deck in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean (or Mediterranean or Caribbean Seas) watching porpoises frolic at our bows or staring in awe as the flying fish glided smoothly through the air from wave-top to wave-top.

Boot Camp was a unique and individual experience for each of us but it was there that we learned to be part of a team. It was there that we learned devotion to duty, honor, and obedience. I dedicate this article to that place I shall never forget as long as I shall live.

Rich T.

I have also added some photos of Boot Camp training on the Web-site in the BootCamp Photo Album. Stop by and take a look.

How it Started

After I finished High School in June of 1963, I spent that summer working with my dad on his fishing boat and doing some part time work for a local farmer. The old skinflint paid me the tremendous sum of 50 cents an hour, but his wife made the greatest pink lemonade this side of the Mississippi. When the mood struck me, I also went out and dredged some Quahogs for a little extra money. Now some of you may ask, “What the heck is a Quahog?” Well, I’ll tell you, a Quahog is the local Yankee (Rhode Island) name for a hard shell sea clam. They are the best clams to use for making New England Chowder. At the end of the article I’ll list Salty’s World Famous Clam Chowder Recipe. (Yes, I do know how to cook!)

In September I started school at Bryant Business College with a major in accounting. I had dreams of becoming a very rich Certified Public Accountant. My head was just a wee bit woolly in those days. It only took to the middle of October before I realized that this was not what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. The huge amount of homework (which I never finished) had nothing to do with it, of course.

The straw that finally broke the camel’s back happened on a Sunday when I was all set to head out to the local drag strip and watch the Flathead Eights, (Don’t ask, you need to be from my generation!) whip up on the overhead engines. My father in his usual fatherly, kindly, and soft-spoken manner (Hah!) stated, “You're not going anywhere until your homework is finished” and I, in the role of the obedient and submissive son replied, “I’m going and you can’t stop me!” After I picked myself up off of the floor, and finished my homework……
I decided that no one was going to tell me what to do ever again. I would join the Navy and See the World! Little did I know then that my days of being told exactly what to do, what to wear, when to arise, and when to go to bed had just begun.

Welcome to Great Lakes

I was sworn in at the recruiting station on October 28 and along with several other bright and eager young men, carefully escorted to the Airport. Upon arrival (still in our civvies), we were met by a Haze Gray bus, which carried us to our destination. Here we were given watch caps, fed and assigned temporary barracks. The first day was actually kind of exciting and I remember eagerly looking forward to the next day when we would start the real training.

I had just laid my head on my pillow when this awful cacophony of discordant sound threatened to destroy my hearing for all time. Blearily sitting up, I observed this monster of a sailor, Signalman First Class, G. A. Braden, (I suspect that I will remember his name even after I’ve passed over to the other side), yelling and screaming at us to get our *^&%* butts out of our racks. The whole time he was shouting at us, he was also banging and clanging away with a wooden paddle on the insides of a large trashcan. (I later came to know the real name for this worthy receptacle.) Those of us who were not quite quick enough in departing our bunks to please Mr. Braden quickly found ourselves unceremoniously dumped on our arrears.

The next three days found the company involved in written tests, medical evaluations, and other sundry tasks. On the second day we were introduced to the camp’s barbers. Sadly I watched in the mirror as these graduates of the Marquis de Sade School of Barbering hacked away at my golden locks. (Can you picture 70 bowling balls?) Finally the great day arrived. We were lined up outside of the supply hall and received our uniform allowance. Any two of us could have worn mine!

Sea Bags on shoulders, we marched out the gates of Main-side and into Camp Moffett (Phase I), which was to be our home for the next six weeks. This was the last time we wore civilian clothing for the next 3 months.

In Training

Our training began in earnest at Camp Moffett. Here we began our physical training and our education into the ways and traditions of the United States Navy. We also learned to wash and dry our own clothing. (Where was my mom when I needed her?) Wooden clothespins were too primitive for us hardy souls. Our Company Commander taught us to hang our clothing to dry using a ingenious device here in after referred to as The Clothe Strop. This consisted of a piece of twine approximately six inches long. Using two of these devices we would tie each article of clothing to the clothesline.

Competition for award flags also began at Camp Moffett. We competed against other companies in the areas of Physical fitness, Parade Drill, Military Education, Cleanliness, and overall Performance.

Around the middle of November northern Illinois winter came calling. It was during this time that I was introduced to the greatest joy of my boot camp experience. Strewn around the camp behind each barracks was a large container affectionately known as the Dipsy Dumpster. I’m not exactly sure why the Navy thought that someone would actually want to steal one of the things, but I’ll never forget standing guard over them in the middle of the night in snow up to my armpits.

Lest I forget, there were also the dreaded Needles. This test of manhood was administered weekly. We sometimes received 6 shots in a row. I remember one shot in particular. I slept in the top bunk and after receiving the shot and completing my day I climbed into my bunk for the night. The next morning I jumped out of my bunk as usual only to find that my legs had completely disappeared. Once again I found myself on my arrears.

After six weeks of indoctrination at Camp Moffett, we marched across the street to Camp Barry where phase II was to begin. The first week of phase II consisted of Service Week. During Service Week, the recruit gets to experience the joy of doing real sailor work. (If this is real sailor work, I want to go HOME!)

For my Service Week, I was assigned to the Galley (Navy Term Meaning: Place Where They Serve the Food) and further assigned to the Scullery (Another Navy Term Meaning: Abode of the Dishpan Hands).

After completing our Service Week we reentered the training phase at Camp Barry. Another of my fond memories of Boot Camp occurred during my sojourn at Barry. During our ninth week we began damage control training. Now this was a really interesting piece of work! First they lock you into this metal container that was supposed to represent a ship’s compartment. Next they begin to flood the space down and we were expected to take these silly little pieces of wood and metal bands and plug up the leaks before we all drowned.

I was not exactly what you would call basketball team material; most of the other recruits were taller than I was. While we were unsuccessfully trying to stem the flood, the water was allowed to continue to rise until it reached neck level. (By this time I was treading water.) We were then allowed to attempt an escape by opening the scuttle leading to the compartment above while Niagara Falls cascaded through the opening.

As a part of damage control training we were also indoctrinated in chemical warfare. This consisted of placing us in another little metal structure, locking the door so we couldn’t get out, and setting off tear gas canisters in the space. We did have gas masks but we were not allowed to put them on. First we had to sing God Bless America all the way through. It was really hard completing that song, as we had to keep stopping to cough up our lungs. I’m not sure what the purpose of this exercise was, but our Company Commanders certainly enjoyed it.

After 13 weeks we were ready to enter the ranks of Iron men and Wooden Ships (I Read that somewhere and it seemed apropos.)

Graduation

Graduation was truly a splendid event. I won’t joke about this; it is a part of my cherished memories. We were magnificent as we boldly marched into the auditorium, every foot in step our banners proudly waving to receive our just due.

Our company missed being the Color Company by one flag. During our training we had won 3 Battalion Drill Flags, 1 Brigade Drill Flag, 2 Regimental Drill Flags, 1 Battalion I Flag (Highest academic average), and 1 A Flag (Athletics).

After the ceremonies had concluded we raced back to the barracks to receive our assignments. I received my orders to Radioman A School. This of course, in true Naval tradition was not one of the five choices I had listed in my selections.

A week later I was on an airplane heading for Bainbridge, Maryland to begin Radioman training, But that’s another story!

That's the story shipmates. I hope you’ve enjoyed our nostalgic look at Boot Camp

Until next time - Fair Winds and Following Seas,

Rich Tucker RMC(SS) USN ret.

A few photographs of my Boot Camp experience may be seen in the BootCamp Photo Album.

Salty's Famous Clam Chowder Recipe

You will need to gather the following ingredients:
Lean Salt Pork
Three medium onions
6 potatoes
4 sticks of real butter
a half quart of milk
1 pint of half & half
paprika
3 dozen quahogs (clams)

Dice the salt pork and onions. Sautee until both are golden brown, then set aside.

Open and shuck the clams saving the broth. Dice the clams and Potatoes, place in pot along with broth, 1 cup of water and 1 stick of butter.
Bring to a boil. Then bring the heat down to the low or simmer range, add the milk (Do not allow to bubble). Continue simmer for approximately one hour or until potatoes and clams are tender.
Add two more sticks of butter, salt pork, onions, and the half and half, continue to simmer for another half hour.
Serve in bowls sprinkling the paprika evenly over the top and placing one additional pat of butter in the center.

Notes:
(1)Use less milk for a more hearty chowder.
(2)If you add anything else or do not use lean salt pork, it is not New England Chowder.
(3)Soda Crackers are allowed (smile)

Enjoy! The Salty