Thursday, February 01, 2018
Hey Sarge! I Just Waxed That!
By: Donovan Baldwin
When I was at Fort Jackson, South Carolina, in 1966, for U. S. Army, Basic Combat Training, I was housed, with approximately 39 other men in old, two-story, wooden barracks.
The upstairs, and downstairs, was an open area, known as a squad bay, with rows of double-decker bunks down either side. The center floor, between the rows of bunks, was, I guess, 20 feet wide, maybe more, maybe less.
The important thing for this story is that it was waxed and buffed to a high gloss every day, and no "trainee" was allowed to walk on it.
Shortly after that was brought to our attention, Drill Sergeants walked in, in combat boots, down the middle of that glossy floor.
We waxed and buffed it.
They walked on it.
If we walked on it, we got in trouble...not just from them, but, from our fellow soldier...er...trainees, as Master Sergeant Alosio would remind us...not yet soldiers.
That simple, shared task, and seeming abuse, was one of the beginnings of teamwork...of brotherhood.
Years later, as a Sergeant, many years and lots of experience away from the young basic trainee, I, myself, was on the training staff at an army academy.
I walked into the barracks, down the middle of the squad bay, with students watching me, knowing that they were sighing, but, not really angry. They knew the drill.
I knew too, that after I left they would get out the wax and the buffer, and work together to fix what i had just messed up with my combat boots.
I smiled inside. That part of my job was done.
They knew what to do.
The upstairs, and downstairs, was an open area, known as a squad bay, with rows of double-decker bunks down either side. The center floor, between the rows of bunks, was, I guess, 20 feet wide, maybe more, maybe less.
The important thing for this story is that it was waxed and buffed to a high gloss every day, and no "trainee" was allowed to walk on it.
Shortly after that was brought to our attention, Drill Sergeants walked in, in combat boots, down the middle of that glossy floor.
We waxed and buffed it.
They walked on it.
If we walked on it, we got in trouble...not just from them, but, from our fellow soldier...er...trainees, as Master Sergeant Alosio would remind us...not yet soldiers.
That simple, shared task, and seeming abuse, was one of the beginnings of teamwork...of brotherhood.
Years later, as a Sergeant, many years and lots of experience away from the young basic trainee, I, myself, was on the training staff at an army academy.
I walked into the barracks, down the middle of the squad bay, with students watching me, knowing that they were sighing, but, not really angry. They knew the drill.
I knew too, that after I left they would get out the wax and the buffer, and work together to fix what i had just messed up with my combat boots.
I smiled inside. That part of my job was done.
They knew what to do.
Labels: basic training, donovan baldwin, drill sergeants, Fort Jackson, sergeant, South Carolina, training, U. S. Army
