USAF Basic Military Training - Part II
Wherein Teófilo continues his story of the same.
The Basic Military Training (BMT) grind turned into a hectic routine. The day started at 5:00 AM with reveille blaring from the PA system. We jumped out of bed, most of us dressed up with the Physical Training (PT) uniform already. Others laid out the PT uniform nearby for easy reach. Then we ran downstairs and fell into formation for a quick movement to the parade/running track. There we did jumping-jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, and ran around the track.
I dreaded that time. I was OK with the calisthenics but the run terrified me, which looped back into failure. By the end of Basic Training I had it all down, more or less. Still, I wasn't the best runner in the world, but I could flee enemy fire if needs be. Besides, the entire BMT experience rated as Physical Education college credits. This was good for any future degree I would pursue.
We then returned to the dorm room, got dressed into our green fatigues and cleaned all spaces. We had to dress our beds with white sheets folding them with “hospital corners”. Itchy, woolen green blankets had to follow the same tight folding pattern. The blankets couldn’t show any “smiles.” Everything had to look straight with no curves anywhere. If we screwed it up the MTI would come in, throw the entire thing to the floor, and make you redo it. He would assign you a buddy to help you and ensure it was good to go. Another such failure and the MTI would punish the entire Flight. Praise was individual but punishment was collective. This made our individual success a team effort and as a great motivator. You wanted to be in good terms with everyone. Instinctively, nobody wanted to be that guy, the loser, the disrupter, the Flight’s “Leonard 'Gomer Pyle' Lawrence” although that movie, Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket, with the “‘Gomer Pyle’ Lawerence” character in it, didn’t come out until 1987.
One's top closet drawer had to contain toiletries, but these had to be aligned into a precise pattern. The logic behind it was to impress upon recruits the focus we had to develop to work on precision tasks. If one couldn't organize a simple drawer, how could one expect to work on avionic systems? Or in whatever else required such focus. Failure to organize one's toiletry drawer meant imminent dispersion of its contents by the MTI. During an inspection by Sgt. Sanford that's exactly what took place with mine. When I got it right the next time, I saw him smile. I considered that a personal triumph. I even took a photo of it for posterity (see below).
After a while we got the drill. As we progressed throgh the training weeks, we earned “alone” time, a time with no MTIs and the dreaded “tac tac” of their heel-plated shoes or boots around. During one such time by the third week of BMT I dedicated several minutes of my time tightening my bed covers. I slid under the bed - the floor was pristine. I began to tighten everything and... I fell asleep. I wouldn’t have dreamed falling asleep on my bed less I disheveled it. The floor was nice, clean, and cool. It made do. It was one of the best siestas I've ever had.
We underwent several hours of classroom training. They taught us USAF history, customs and courtesies, and grooming. They also taught us personal finance and bookkeeping. They drilled in us to always use seat belts when driving, and never drive while intoxicated (DWI). One day they administered to us several reading and comprehension tests. These tests I passed without difficulty. Because I was still disingenuous about the American educational system it didn't occur to me some native speakers could flunk it. But flunk it they did. I would get to meet some of them during my week in Casual Status after BMT.
Other MTI-led training was quite practical. One day Sgt. Sanford gathered us in the day room. He took a washcloth and began to explain:
"When you take a shower, take one of these. Soap them just so. Work it down your body. Rinse it. Wash your balls. Wash your ass crack. Rinse the cloth. Rinse yourself. You're done."
We laughed. It appeared he'd had smelled a foul odor emanating from someone and took it upon himself to fix it.
TSgt. Vincent’s thing was storytelling. Every weekday we would have a meeting in the dayroom. He would pass out mail and then sit down to anecdotize. At that time he became human, not an Olympian god. He was very enthused about the second Rambo picture, then at movie houses everywhere. He relished the scenes of Johnny Rambo blowing up North Vietnamese prison guards still holding on to our prisoners of war (POWs). When I finally watched the movie on one of my first visit to downtown San Antonio, I wasn’t too impressed. It was a movie of Stallone blowing up things and killing people and exacting revenge.
We always carried in our hats two blank ATC Forms 341. The forms were supposed to capture excellent displays or actions, or discrepancies, i.e. demerits. After so many demerits one could either be “washed back” to another BMT Flight and start all over, or sent back home. I don’t recall having mine pulled or I might have repressed my incidents. You can see a sample gag one below, “issued” to someone else.
The MTIs took us to church the first Sunday after our arrival. They herded us into a Protestant service. We Catholics were too intimidated to challenge the MTIs so we said nothing. I remember an African American recruit singing a version of the Our Father beautifully. We cried freely, and everyone was OK with it.
By the second Sunday the Catholics in our flight had located the Sunday Mass and we went in small platoons of two or more. I welcomed with relief the peppy guitar Mass I was used to already. It was there, at Chapel 2 (now called the Lackland Interfaith Chapel), where I found the Blessed Sacrament chapel and prayed in earnest. It was also there where I heard for the first time Carey Landry’s song, The Spirit is A’Movin which I found comforting and a sign of spiritual continuity to me. I would emerge fortified from it all, ready to tackle every ongoing challenge.
I didn’t get to call my Mercie until the second day of Week 0. The call home was mandatory, and we did so as directed by the MTIs. That was fine by me, I didn’t need to be ordered to do so. We waited patiently until the current pay phone occupant left it for us to move in.
I heard her sweet voice at the other side of the line, so close yet so far away. I told her the whole experience had been hard and challenging for me, but that I was hanging in.
She was the reason why I was doing this whole thing. Our future was at stake. The reconstruction of my whole sense of adult manhood hung in the balance. I was determined to see it all through.