It's easy. You lean against a fucking wall, close your eyes and you doze off. It's something like masturbating. Easy to do at 20. Not so easy at 85. GI's standing and sleeping were as common as an old shoe.Officers got chairs, we got walls.
Wartime traveling was always an experience especially for a GI. There were so damn many of us that the only time you felt special was when you went home. But getting home once in a three year span certainly didn't give me the chance to get a big head.
It took the book 'The Greatest Generation' for WWII guys and dolls to be recognized for who we were and what we did.
My first train ride, while in the service, was on a rattler and shaker going from Fort Dix, New Jersey to Ft.Sill (Lawton) Oklahoma for basic training. Sleeping sitting up became a learned art form and was a relief from the fucking boredom of sitting and doing nothing on a train for three days with a bunch of guys you didn't know and weren't sure that you cared to know.
But it beat the hell out of 'short arm' inspections where you dropped your pants and drawers and gave your schlong a few tugs to prove that you didn't have a 'dose'. If your dick dripped, the doctors would ship your ass to the hospital. The second 'short arm' inspection of my army career of 'short arm' inspections was pure bullshit. It happened when we checked into Fort Sill after a three day train ride. While abstinence may make the heart grow fonder it can't generate gonorrhea.
Going from Fort Sill, after basic training, to Fort Worden,Wash. was different. Not being part of a group of GI's, traveling alone, made me feel like a big shot for a few days. I didn't have to try to to contain my non-filtered opinions. Trying to avoid my First Sergeant, who by definition, was an asshole, was not necessary.
Took the ferry, which was forever more terrific, from Seattle. Arrived at Fort Worden, when some noncom or officer took an instant dislike to me and I was assigned to be on permanent KP.
Washed more fucking pots and pans, mopped more floors and peeled more potatoes than one Bronx Jew should have had to do. Peeling spuds wasn't all bad though, since it was done sitting down.
After a month of that bullshit (24 hours on, 48 hours off) I made enough noise to be sent to radio school outside of Sacramento.The train ride from Seattle to Sacramento was terrific.The train went close by Mt.Shasta, a beautiful, mind boggling sight for this city kid. Summertime with snow knocked my brains out.
After radio school, another day on the Southern Pacific. Leaving California, even hot, dry Sacramento was kinda sad for me but with my new talent as a dot-dash guy KP duty was, thank God, history.
Getting from Fort Lewis to NYC by way of Minneapolis in 1944 was no small stunt. Taking four days and nights for the trip by train would chew up eight of my ten day furlough real easy. 'Fly away' was the only logical solution to beating eight days and nights sitting on a train.
So I went to the airfield, put my ass on the floor and waited for my name to be called for a ride on an Air Force transport plane to Minneapolis, to see my 'special friend'. When it happened, I was ecstatic, even with a fucking orange crate for a seat for the ride.
Then the shocker. After a few hours out this voice spewed out over the speaker, the bad news.We were landing and the few other GI's and I were being unloaded in fucking Wyoming. The last time that I even thought about Wyoming was in my grade school geography class. It could have been on the moon along with its Cowboys and Indians.
Then I sat on the floor for another bunch of hours in the station in Wyoming until some plane landed for a stop on the way to Minneapolis and we were good to go. A night and day in Minneapolis and off to New York for me on a train.
Going back to Seattle from NY, by train, was a drinking experience as a few other GI's and I enjoyed my duffel bag full of booze. Great train ride even with the layover in Chicago to switch trains. In those days there weren't any coast to coast trains. Kinda like going from one fucking cattle car to another except that each trip was an adventure in killing time.Why GI's didn't die of boredom is a surprise to me.
Trying to go from Korea back to the states on a 'hospital' Air Force plane turned out badly. Standing in the plane we were boiling from head to waist. Below the waist we were fucking freezing. The wings started 'freezing up' over Osaka so back to Seoul we went, a little worse for the wear. But shooting craps in the hospital latrine was better than than being on that fucking airplane.
Did get back to the States on a hospital ship, shooting craps, playing cards and writing letters all the way while being looked down on with disgust by the officers.We lowly GI's, in turn, didn't think a whole hell of a lot of the officers. The letters were sent to the States in bunches from our stops.
Wrote my folks every day.Writing daily letters on that 45 day boat ride was a real challenge, great training for developing my bullshitting abilities. But I was up to the task. Sometimes I think that I invented bullshit. And so do my closest friends.
You can take the guys and gals out of the Army but you can never take the Army out of the guys and gals. Or the Marines, Navy and Air Force.
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