Motto: Writers Helping Writers

Rome Area Writers

Short Story & Humor

Mike Ragland
Text Box: YOU’RE IN THE NAVY NOW!! Recently on the Military Channel I watched once again a story about Marine recruits arriving and going thru basic training at Paris Island. And, once again I felt sorry for them. That show was followed up by a documentary on training drill instructors at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. Right here I have to confess that I have no further knowledge of Army or Marine Corp training. However, I am more than familiar with the Naval Recruit Training Depot at Great Lakes, Illinois. In fact, I spent ten years there one summer!! In 1963, after graduating from Pepperell High and going back to work in the textile industry, I made a major decision. And that decision led me to Great Lakes one morning about three o’clock. And yes, we could have been at Paris Island or one of the Army’s training centers. The yelling NEVER ceases, and they literally scared me to death. I couldn’t believe they hated me that much, but they obviously did. Up before daylight and taps after dark. It was LONG days! The drill instructors job is to strip you physically and emotionally and rebuild you to his specifications. And, make no doubt about it, Chief Boatswain Mates are well equipped for the job. After about six weeks you start getting used to it. At that point you start taking a multitude of tests to determine what job you would be best suited for. During that time we were shown films of submarine sailors and told of their duties and the fact that they’re paid more for hazardous duty and sea pay. This sounded pretty good to me. The next morning in formation the plan of the day was read to us and we were asked if anyone wanted to volunteer for submarine duty. I immediately shot my hand up…I was sure that everybody would, but everyone didn’t! I was the only one in my company. One other guy in the next company also volunteered. We were told where to report and off we went. When we got to our destination, a good mile away, we were seated with about twenty other guys and began taking tests. The first ones were putting square pegs and triangles in round holes and such. A psychologist told us that he felt that anybody that would volunteer for sub duty was a little bit off! Their job as they saw it was find out if we were too far gone to be of any use to the Navy. All that day we took written tests of various kinds. The next day we reported back and began taking a physical. I’m sixty-four years old now and have had many physical examinations during that time. None equal that one when I was eighteen at Great Lakes. One by one as the day went on we were dismissed to return to our companies. Eventually I was the only one left. We had three doctor’s administering the physical. One was a Commander, probably in his mid to late thirties and he was definitely in charge. His two helpers were Ensigns or Lt. J.G.’s and appeared to be in their late twenties. One was kind of dumpy with thin hair and big rosy cheeks. The other had a long face, a very serious look, and smoked a pipe. That reminded me of what a supervisor in the mill had told me, “I’d rather hire a one armed man than a man that smokes a pipe. He’s always packing it, lighting it, filling it, or cleaning it out and it occupies one hand all the time and most of the time both. He ain’t gonna get much done!” I thought of that as they called me into the office. The Commander said, “Son, we’ve got a little problem.” That scared me to death!! Nobody called you “son” here. What you are called in this place, you can’t print. I took a deep breath and asked, “What is that, Sir?” “Well, in the x-ray of your head, there is a little dot or blip that we can’t seem to identify. We’ve called everybody we know and we just don’t have an answer for you today. We’re gonna put you in the hospital, run some tests and maybe some surgery, possibly quite extensive.” “Here” he said, “take a look for yourself.” And sure enough, about three inches back from the front of my skull was a dot, shining like the sun. The x-ray made it quite bright. The Commander said “There it is” and pointed to the blip. I looked for a moment then it dawned on me, “it’s a BB” I said. “A WHAT?!?!?!” he asked again. “A BB” I repeated. Rosy Cheeks and Pipe vanished. Like a covey of spooked quail, they were gone! The Commander real quietly asked, “How do you get a BB in your head?” “Sir” I said, “during a BB gun battle I got shot in the eye or right under the eye and back into my eye socket it went.” By now he was struggling for breath. “You Rebel idiots shoot each other in the head with guns” he stated softly, speaking to no one. Turning the pages in my medical file he said, “It’s not in here.” “I must have forgot” I replied. “You forgot” he said. “Do you realize how many people I called. Wait till they hear about this.” As he turned back to me I swear there was smoke coming out of his ears. His eyes got small and beady, his face was blood red, and his breathing was shallow and rapid. His vocals were short and staccato. He looked as I remembered a cartoon character …about to explode! “YOU” he said at the top of his voice, “GET…OUT…OF…HERE!!!” I was out the door in an instant. At Great Lakes, two or more could march to destinations but if you were alone you had to run. I THINK THAT WAS THE FASTEST MILE I EVER RAN!! When I got back to my barracks, several of my friends asked what had taken so long. I told them that it was just a long day and that they would not believe it anyway. “How do you think you did?” they asked, “do you think you passed?” “You guys have heard about the proverbial snowball haven’t you?” I asked. “That’s about how much chance I got!” But, I was wrong. Six weeks later I graduated from boot camp and they sent me to submarine school, BB and all, and it’s still there! Mike Ragland Cave Spring, GA 30124