50 years ago at Great Lakes Naval Training Center

Bill Martino

Bill Martino

Joined
Mar 5, 1999
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First thing they confiscated my straight razor, mug and brush. I never saw any of the three items again again. Introduction to Navy way.

Got my half inch long crew cut taken down to 1/8 inch and became full fledged "skinhead."

Assigned to a group of 80 men -- a "company", 16 of which are members of a Philly street gang -- jail or join. They joined. All with DA greasy haircuts and switchblades. The switchblades went the way of my straight razor. Tough guys, street fighters but interestingly they are integrated -- a black, couple of Jews, Italians, a Czeck, etc. I keep my mouth shut, don't turn my back on them.

First assembly and time to meet our DI, Gunner's Mate First Class Ritchie -- WWII graduate of Pacific. Now here's the REAL tough guy!
One of the gangsters from Philly giggles during Ritchie's welcome aboard speech (which is far from politically correct I might add). Big mistake on part of the gangster. He ends up getting knocked down and doing 20 pushups with Ritchies foot on his back. I'm impressed!

"Anybody who can type take a step forward," Ritchie barks. I've been advised by WWII vets not to volunteer for anything but take the step anyway.

Six guys step forward.

"If any of you guys who can type have any college take a step forward," Ritchie barks. I take another step. So does another guy.

"How much college you got?" Ritchie asks the other guy.

"Master's degree, Sir."

"How much you got?" Ritchie asks me.

"Quit my second semester to join up, Sir."

"You're the company clerk," Ritchie says to the first guy. Turns to me and says, "You're the assistant company clerk. Boot Camp's a busy place and if this guy gets sick or has something he's got to do you take over the duties. Understand both of you?"

Yes sir.

And then it begins -- PT, marching, classes, Ritchie barking every minute. Before the 13 weeks are over we lose 5 or 6 guys for various reasons (One couldn't learn to swim -- not good for a sailor) but the gangsters become model sailors and US citizens. Total transformation. We're all buddies. Taylor, one of the gangsters, becomes base champion in boxing --135lb class. I anchor our company relay team (varsity track man after all) and we beat everybody. Company gets more liberty than any other company due to outstanding achievements.

Being able to type got me no KP and no guard duty, smoking lamp lit in the company office at all times. This was an indication of things to come. Being able to type and spell Navy correctly made you golden back in the 1952 Navy.

And if the chips were down I'd go it again.

Enough ramblings of an old man.
 
Thanks for the story Uncle, I love hearing them.:D As far as I'm concerned, you can keep rambling. I'll listen.:)
 
Thanks, Heber. I think the post may joggle the memories of some of the old vets who hang out here.
 
Thanks for the story Uncle, I love hearing them. As far as I'm concerned, you can keep rambling. I'll listen.
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Yep, me too:)

I almost joined the Air Force after high school. Should've done it, I think it would have done me a world of good. Oh well, next life:D
 
Hear,Hear.Anytime you or any other vet wants to ramble on ,I'll listen.When I left school it was either the army or the oilpatch.I went for the "big money" and blew it all anyway.Too soon old,too late smart.Cheers,Mark
 
I hit Great Lakes in Feb. of '53. Took nothing with me but my wallet with $20. They let me keep the wallet, and convinced me I never had $20. My perfect vision (20/400, 20/600) got me bumped from all sea detail classes, and in a "short unit" company of four men and an old Gold Stripe Chief. The Chief (Reginald Baker) was boning up for Camp Perry and the matches, so we sat out the nights (and most of the days) at the pistol range. When he found out I knew the 1911, I got to shoot. The others stayed as far back as they could, with their fingers in their ears. I probably burned up over 5,000 rounds of .45 in the remaining six weeks, and got my assignment as a result of Chief Baker "putting a bug in an ear".
 
I grew up right near there and used to ride my bike right next to and even through some of their training facilities.

I tried to get into the armed forces when I was 20, but unfortunately for me, Uncle Sam only wants people who are sane and healthy. I am neither.

On the bright side, someday I'll probably be able to commission maybe half a dozen sebenza handles with all the titanium I've got in my back...

-Dave
 
Originally posted by SkagSig40
Great! What Heber said, I like to hear them too!:)
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In 1966, at 18 years of age I stepped off the bus at 2am and promptly put my feet on the yellow footprints at Marine Corps Recruit Depot, Parris Island S.C. Of course, a very friendly (NOT) DI was helping me adjust to military life.

They took everything I brought with me including my hair. We got about 15 minutes to sleep (no one slept) and then it was 4:30am and time to get up. The next 8 weeks resembled the first half of the movie "Full Metal Jacket" except there was a lot more cussin' and getting slapped around if you screwed up. It didn't really hurt so bad, but it sure got your attention quick!

Everyone feared being sent to STP (Special Training Platoon) or to Motivation Platoon. The DI's carried ax handles (that's what they looked like to me). My platoon picked up one of the "graduates" from Motivation to begin regular training with us. To say he was highly motivated would be a huge understatement! Another kid pissed in his rack and then tried suicide with a razor blade. The DI caught him, took the blade, and told him to slice his wrists diagonally to get more veins that way. Then he threw the razor blade at him. The kid went into spasms and they took him away. Never heard from him again.
I don't think the DI would have let him actually do it. But at the time, I thought, "Holy Sheeaat!"

I especially enjoyed the rifle range and marksmanship training. Being from Kentucky, I grew up with guns and had no problem. Qualified expert with the M14. (no M16s at that time for recruits). I still think the M14 (M1A, civilian version) is the finest battle rifle made.

Anyway, 8 weeks later, and 35 pounds lighter, I was promoted to PFC (one of 5 in my plattoon) and graduated. I have never been so proud in my life. :D
 
Thanks for the stories, guys.

My dad talks about the time when he was in Europe in the 50's as part of an army medical unit. I've never asked him why it was so special. I should do that soon.

Thanks,
 
Boot camp is one of those experiences one doesn't forget. Thanks, Semp. For some reason I had to chuckle. It wasn't very funny then but it is today.
 
Well, I started mine as a newly commissioned UASF 2nd. Lt., in 1964. Spent most of the first 4 of 7 years as a navigator for the Military Air Transport Service and Air Rescue Service in mostly the Pacific and Asian regions. Been to most areas of the world, except Africa, including Nepal (Kathmandu and a couple of villages, the names I don't remmember) Crewed on SA-16, C-124, C-54, HC-97, and HC-130 aircraft.

After over 3000 hours of mostly peacetime flying the "fun" really started. Was assigned to the the first special operations squadron of the then new AC-130 gunships. Flew the prototype and helped develope some of the fire control and sighting systems. We setup combat operations with in Ubon, Thialand. The mission was mostly night interdiction against trucks, supply dumps, troop concentrations, sampans and river barges. We had six aircraft to start, equiped with four 7.62 minigunns and four 20mm gattling canons and an automated fire control system fed by various "see in the dark" devices. It was and still is a very deadly aircraft. We flew missions in Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia, and a few other places, two missions per aircraft per night of about five hours per mission. We experienced about 2500-3000 rounds of hostile AAA per mission which damaged about one aircraft per week seriously. We lost half the fleet including the prototype in 14 months. Some of the replacement aircraft were equiped with 40mm cannons. This gave us more range and thus more altitude when on target, that helped some. After about 700 hours of combat flying time and coming too close to not coming back too many times, I quit and went back to the Rescue Service. The AC-130s in service now in Afghanistan and in the last Gulf War are equiped with 105mm guns. I understand they are very nasty.

sundagger
 
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