In the 70's on a flight from L.A. to SFO there was a kid, about 15, sitting next to me. She had a mouthful of iron and was eating candy like there was no tomorrow. I commented to her that all the candy would 'rot her teeth and curl her soul'. She looked at me like the proverbial bull with a bastard calf and gave me that 'fuck off, asshole' look. I then popped my lower denture out of mouth while telling her that eating candy was one reason for my no teeth set of gums. (The uppers were in too tight to spit them out). The kid screamed to her mother who was sitting behind us,' Mommy, Mommy make him stop. 'The kid is about 60 now, probably with dentures.
Whipped on my lower case, bronx, jewish ass, after 20 miles of 'trotting' (aka 'a forced, 20 mile march') in 105 degree heat. The countryside had that hot dry heat smell to it. A weird sensation for a city guy like me; more used to that awful city summer stink. Often absolutely collapsed, on an army cot, in a low, tar roofed barrack that had previously been a Japanese detention center. Camp Kohler, July 1945, Sacramento, Ca., going to radio operator's school. We wondered, stretched out and drenched in sweat in our boxer shorts, how the hell the Japanese folks and their kids survived, living in that unreal, body straining environment. No easy come, easy go in Sacramento in July. It was like living in a sauna.
We dressed for a cool Canadian day on brutally hot Saturday afternoons for 20 mile forced marches. We wore shoes that weighed a fucking ton, carrying an old 1930's rifle that weighed even more while wearing fatigues which felt like you were wearing the whole fucking world on your back.(When we were issued carbines, well after radio school, a weight was truly lifted off of our bodies.) Breathing like a stuck hog bleeds if you were placed a little bit back of the front of the march because you were always catching up. It felt like you were running the whole God damn 20 miles.
Pissin' and groaning were the order of the day for all of us GI's. The city guys, who thought that they were tough, weren’t so tough trotting in that heat. It was not like a stroll in the park and no one told me that all that walking/trotting, was building bone strength. At 19 years old, who even thought about bone strength much less cared about it? The only bone you cared about was the one that sometimes (not often enough) sprouted between your legs. And walking/hiking didn't help produce that wonderful bone of that now distant, fond memory. Anyhow, sex thoughts in that hot, fucking California Valley sun just didn't happen.
'You can check out anytime, but you can never leave'...The Eagles, Hotel California. You can get discharged from the service but in your head, you never leave. There is no such thing as an ex-Marine. My few years in the Army are part of my soul. As time wears on, the worst of times become the funniest of times.
That constant contact with those great big sheets of paper falling through the 'ceiling' was turning me into 160 pounds of static electricity. I couldn't touch anything without getting a slight jolt. I felt wired for sound. Like I could light the city of Philadelphia, which until recent years was one boring fucking place. Its biggest claims to fame were the Liberty Bell and the pleasant train ride to and from the Big Apple. Hell you couldn't even buy booze or get a drink on Sunday. Very bad place for serious drinkers (aka alcoholics) of which I was one.
~And the term G.I. was, I believe, invented in WWII and stands for General Issue
2 comments:
Bernie, I want to thank you for your service to our country. YOU took that bullet for all of us, thank God the Japanese/Nazi Germans/ fascist Italians didn't win. It's guys like you that kept America American, and I honor you for all you did to keep us safe and free.
And honor to all the wives that kept the home fires burning and the kids fed while their guys were off fighting WWII.
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