ep17military

Sept. 14, 1977
EPITAPH-NEWS, LaFarge, WI   Editor's note: Deb, a resident of South Bear Creek, has joined the National Guard and is presently undertaking basic training. Deb is a prototype of the women's liberation movement, in this case she left her husband and 2 children behind to take care of the house while she served her country.
    Hello from muggy South Carolina. When I enlisted in the Wisconsin National Guard back in the middle of August I did it with gungho and let's get it started. Now I'm as homesick as a just-weaned calf and can't wait to get home; and I've only been here four days.
   I signed up for three years with the 107th Maintenance Company of Viroqua. Three years that started with one week of preparation (shots, signing papers, uniform issue), and seven weeks of basic physical training here at Fort Jackson. And then for me, ten weeks of AIT or Advanced Individual Training at Aberdeen Proving Grounds, Aberdeen, MD. After than, only one weekend per month and two weeks each summer for three years. That's what the Army gets from me. And I get from the Army good pay, free schooling, insurance and a chance at a high paying career. So, for me, the separation from my family will be worth the benefits we'll all receive the rest of our lives.
   So Lonnie, this will hopefully dispel the rumors that I'd joined the Foreign Legion.
   I'll be home for Christmas, until then I'll try to write once a week and will send my address with my next letter -- after I find out what it is.
SEPT. 21, 1977 My letter writing time is very limited. I'm presently in a dull race relations class where, if you catch one word every 10 minutes, you get the jest of the whole program. That's the Army, hurry up and wait. We've been up since 4:30 a.m. and have already gotten ready for inspection, marched to breakfast (double-timed in Army lingo) two miles, had a class on Army responsibility for 50 minutes, had physical training (primarily push-ups), and it's only 9:15.
   I've gotten so that after a 5 mile hike in full gear (pistol belt, steel pot or helmut, full canteen, ruck or napsack) I actually look forward to stripping down to just a t-shirt and doing a couple of hours of physical training (pt) I don't mean strip to a t-shirt literally. At present, our uniform consists of underwear, bottom and top (no liberated ladies in this army), green wool socks, combat boots, white t-shirt, and fatigues or green long pants, and shirts with large pockets, and a hat, either basegall, or steel pot with a liner. Doesn't sound very feminine, does it? It's not. But it's very, very comfortable. A little hot maybe, but on the march rather comfortable. And we march daily.
   We rarely have time for any personal care - we're always doing things for our new employer, the army.
It's later in the ady now from when I started this letter. We've had classes on rape prevention and self defense, we've also learnd several new excercises in pt and were taught, quite subtly, how not to make an army bed. Let me explain. First we were given a class on how to make white beds and brown beds. Then we were given orders to make these beds, and properly, for an inspection. The next morning when we returned from breakfast to pick up our gear we find our beds "corrected". This means unmade, pulled apart, torn up.
We have a retreat ceremony Saturday. Once I find out what that is, I'll let you know.
I love the pt, some of the classes, and I'm fond of my drill sargeants (one female, one male). I feel proud in my uniform and an extra surge every time I see the flag or an officer with her eye on my platoon. It's rigorous, round, and I don't recommend it for the physically, mentally or morally weak. I love it, but God do I miss home.
OCT. 5, 1977 It's been a long week here, in terms of accomplishments, but seemingly short in terms of time. We've had classes, usually one hour each, but up to five on some (e.g., first aid) on Army conduct, rules, justice, on birth control, venereal disease and drug abuse, on hearing loss, M-16 rifles, gas masks, and a host of others that are relative and impertive as far as passing basic training.
We've marched and marched and marched. (Today approx. 12 miles) We've had more shots, signed more forms, learned the army way of polishing boots and ironing fatigues. We've had physical training (p.t.) daily, which for me is now the ability to perform 50 jumping jacks, 30 situps, 40 plus pushups, leg raises, arm raises, as a host of others as well as the mile run, the 10 meter shuttle run and a run, dodge and hump course .. all in about 45 minutes, which of course includes marching the miles and a half fto the pt field and back.
I'm pretty proud of how far I am. I came into the Guard 10 pounds overweight, I've already lost 18 pounds and feel terrific. Oh yea, I've also learned several basic self-defence moves which will no doubt be of assistance once my basic "physical" training is complete. I'm sure once I get to Maryland and get a chance to visit Washington D.C. I'll need the self-defense just to walk down the street and stay alive. Rumor is that by then a lot of DNR personnel will be out panhandling by then. Is that true?
At the end of my first letter from my husband Rodd he jokingly asked 'have you had any mock nuclear attacks yet?' Well, now we have. Today, for the first time, we went to the range. We wore pistol belts with full canteen, ammo pouches, first aid kit and poncho, a ruck sack, gas mask, mess kit, steel helmet and carried M-16 rifles. We spent the morning on the grenade firlds practicing the Joe Namath throw. I had problems because I kept throwing like John Wayne, which is very unacceptable. We threw all dummy grenades, except one -- which they called a practice grenade. You pulled the pin, thre it and got a fire cracker detonation -- a loud bang and a lot of smoke.
The afternoon was spent in NBC training, or Nuclear, Biolological and Chemical Warfare training. This was where we had our mock nuclear attack, learned proper methods of decontamination and went through the gas chamber.
The gas chamber is a building into which you walk wearing your protective, or gas masks. They have inside the tear gas commonly used in riot control, very thickly dispersed. Once inside you are ordered to dismask, wait 2 to 5 seconds and walk out of the building. Remember, we took off that mask in a gas-filled room. The gas burned tremendously but you were required to walk, not run. It terrifies me to think that people find that type of a painful weapon necessary for use on other human beings. There has to be a more humane way. Enough on the gas chamber -- it was not pleasant.
In my last letter I mentioned that we were having a retreat on Saturday. Most everyone knows that retreat is the official lowering of the American flag. What I didn't know was why this retreat was going to be so special. We were all required to shine our boots and starch our fatigues extra tight. Then 5 companies, 4 male and ours, female, started our march for the White House, which is the name for the Major's quarters. On the way, it rained .. no poured .. caking our shined boots with mud and taking all traces of starch from our fatigues. Our only consolation was that now we stood out (pardon the pun) from our male counterparts.
We performed facing movements in front of the White House, listened to cannons, an Army band and speeches, and then marched back to the barracks. It was all right, but not spectacular. We knew, however, that an 18-year-old trainee, as we are called, died during phyical training earlier in the day. No explanations were given, or desired. They just said 'she tried.'
It's rigorous and physical here, but I like it. My only complaint is ... I want to go home.
OCT. 12, 1977     Another letter getting off late. We've no longer any time to ourselves. The time we used to have was limited, now it's nil. We have inpsections, drills, classes and duties. If you fall short in any of these categories, you lose privileges. Twice a week ayou are allowed to use the phone, if your boots do not shine like galss, if your fatigues have a wrinkle behind the knee, if you cough in formation this privilege is revoked. We do not have any other priviledges, except those who smoke may be disallowed that, so, as punishment we are given extra duties.
   As a member of a 12-woman squad I received many extra duties during the last 24 hours. One -- just one -- girld in our squad did not zero her weapon at the range. This means she was unable to fire 3 consecutive times and hit within a 2 centimeter circle on a target 25 meters away. As a result, first our squad received ammo details from 4:30 Thursday morning until 7:30 Thursday night. We had three 15-minute breaks for meals and the time necessary to shoot 78 rounds, or bullets, from several different positions or about 45 minutes of range time. Then, upon returning, we got equipment guard detail -- watching the company's equipment so they could go to supper. Then the C.Q., or charge of quarters. I was lucky, I only had it from 9-12 p.m., but due to a change in policy, now anyone on C.Q duty may do nothing but guard her post. That meant, for me, watching a door for 3 hours.
Tonight we have weapons guard, all night long. I can't wait. We will be able to take care of anything we need done personally at that time. But, due the fact that we have a formal inspection tomorrow, where we will be wearing our Class A's or skirts and jackets -- we will be very busy ironing, polishing boots and other Army fun things.
Today is payday. When we were at the reception center, right after our arrival, we were issued $95. We were told $45 was a reimbursement for items we had prior to coming, extra to underwear, iron, traveling clothes, etc. The other $50 was an advance which would be taken out of our 1st check. Well, that seems to be the Army line -- according to the who have recieved pay already, they are taking the full $95 out, along with enough taxes to make an Arab shriek. We'll see.
So far the Army's been a damn expensive proposition, in terms of money, self respect, and confidence in the military system. There is a great deal of harassment, bigotry and favoritism that I am finding more and more difficult to cope with. I have pride in myself (I think), my country (I'm sure), and what the flag stands for -- but, like religion -- boy do I have doubts. There must be a better way to defnd our country than by forcing total personality, environmental and physical changes on each and every person who wishes to be an aide to his defense.
Maybe this is just a down week for me. It shouldn't be. I've talked to my husband, shot 30 of 36 on the rifle range at 75, 175 and 300 meter 5 second targets, built myself up to 60 pushups. I feel healthy and in shape. But my patience is worn too think. I hope I can hold out for the next 4 weeks of basic without doing something unethical.
Gotta go -- think of me at home -- cause I'm sure thinkg of you all (catch that southern accent?) Wish me luck and patience. Wish me home.
OCT. 26, 1977
We had bivouac last week for 3 days and 2 nights. We also had soggy, rainy weather for 3 days and 2 nights. We spent a great deal of time rolling and unrolling our ponchos to keep conformity within the company. Everytime the rain would stop on one platoon, it would start on another. We came back to the barracks crying for warm, dry, bugless beds and hot showers.
We marched for bivouac carrying backpacks, and M-16 rifles while our duffle bags filled with tent halves and sleeping bags rode on cattle trucks and were stacked in pyramids and piles awaiting our arrival. The march out was beautiful, for me. We traveled through woods and marshes, past numerous wildflowers and other South Carolina flora. I got to lead the pack, as it were, carrying the company flag, so my view was unhindered by the other trainee's gear and kicked-up dust. They said the march was seven miles, but to me it seemed like only one -- it ended much too soon. Oh, I almost forgot, on our way we got gassed .. by platoon ... Only 2 out of the 40 women in our platoon failed the gas test, when they had difficulty getting their masks on and adjusted in those required 9 seconds. For those who had the gas cannisters open at their feet .. their mask time was considerably less than 9 seconds. (duh)
On arrival at the bivouac site, we were assigned test areas, well out of sight from reconnaisance from the ground and the air, and, with our buddies started the procedure involved in setting up our 2-woman abode. It went fairly rapidly, both I and my buddy had ample time to help out others who had KP or were on sick call. Then, we had our first meal of C-rations. All I can say is ... remarkable. How anyone could live in a combat situation, eating only C-rations and not die of metal chip poisoning or gum disease from lack of anything to chew is indeed beyond me. Actually, the food was palatable and diverse but I wouldn't want it for a steady diet.
We all got to bed early, primarily because of the cheap PX batteries we had in our flashlites that weren't lasting long enough to button the tent flap up. I was up again 3:15 a.m however for one hour of perimeter guard duty from 3:30 to 4:30 which was the wake-up time for the rest of the platoon. We dressed ourselves and our tents by our rapidly dimming flashlites and gathered our mess kits for a good hot welcome breakfast.
The second day was filled with First Aide reinforcement, camouflage training and eating C-rations on the run. We had mock combate complete with artillery barage, fake bombs and real gas. The 'enemy' almost captured our 1st Sargeant, but we ended up securing most of the area and taking a large number of POW's. We then prepared for the highlite of the day (or night), the night march. We received our special instructions as to our mission (which was to move our platoon from one area to another, (hopefully avoiding detection) the manner in which to perform our mission, and an order to tie our weapons to our pistol belts so they didn't get lost. The mach started out quiet, but soon the air was filled with weapons fire, artillery, missiles and flares. We walked a pre-described route - most of the time single file - dropping to the ground at each ambush and every flare. We raced as quickly and quietly as possible for a group of 50-60 nervous, night-scared, cold and chicken women. I wisely chose to walk in the far year where the clamor was least but where I was pulled out by an ambushing enemy (Drill Sgt.) and accused of not properly carrying out my mission by allowing myself to be captured. After all these weeks of heavy training to respect, honor and obey any Drill Sgt. -- I don't know how they could possible expect me to foget it all and attempt to escape from one who yelled at me with one hand on a weapon and the other on my collar. All I could do was cringe and await the worst. Guess the Army's teaching of fear is pretty effective.
The march was over in only a few minutes, but it seemed like hours. We returned to the camp for a snack and then into our beds -- covered with mud and not giving a damn whether or not our sleeping badk got dirty or not, just so it kept up warm. We finally got the flaps shut about 11:30 and I don't think anyone was worried about showers then, just sleep.
The next day we were up at 4:30 again to take down our tents in the dark. Of course, since it went so sloly, it was light by the time we got done. We climbed onto trucks for the ride home to the wonderully warm, clean, civilized barrack. I must be getting soft. I've lived the last 4 years (in Wisconsin) without indoor plumbing and it has never bothered me -- but after only 2-1/2 days I'm almost worshiping it. What am I gonna do when I get home? ... I'll tell you. Be damn glad this is over. Being out in the woods made me more homesick than ever.
I ony have one-and-a-half weeks til graduation. I should get my orders this week for my Advanced Individual Training. I only know for sure that I'll be home for Chrstmas. I can't wait. Make some snow for me.
NOV. 2, 1977    I apologize for not having written sooner. Too much has happened in too short of time and I'm rather dizzy from the speed of the last 2 1/2 week's events. My sixth week, right after bivouac, found me in a rather unmilitary situation.
   I had a tooth pulled on Monday and went through the entire week thinking they'd broken my jaw. But I was too afraid to go back on sick call for fear they would pull me out of training and set me back.
   I did my end-of-cycle pt test on Thursday and scored 439 out of a possible 500; I didn't think that was out of line considering how lousy I felt. On Friday I took, and passed, my G-3 test. This is the test that, along with the pt test, the M-16 record fire and the chemical agent test determined whether or not I graduated. Since I had finished and passed everything required; I felt safe in going on sick call Friday afternoon.
   I'm glad I waited. They put me into the hospital. I was on intravedous feeding and medication for four days and was finally sent back to my unit on Wednesday, the day before graduation.
   My jaw wasn't broken (as I suspected) but there were some pretty interesting complications from the simple pulling of a tooth. A dry socket, the primary cause of my pain; cellulitis or an abcess that spread so badly it came to closing off my throat. And post extraction trauma that caused a muscle spasm, closing my jaw gradually until by Thursday of my last week of training I couldn't get my toothbrush between my clenched jaws and on Friday not even a straw could be forcced between my teeth. And the final straw? Dehydration. Somehow just didn't feel like even drinking that week.
The worst part of the whole ordeal was not being able to participate in the graduation ceremony. Watching from the sidelines while all the rest of the women I'd just spent several trying weeks with, so proud, was really a lump-in-the-throat situation. And so, Basic Training is over, all done, finished ... and I made it, by the skin of my tooth, as it happened.
Friday I got on a Greyhound bus and rode all night and part of the next day to reach my present station, Aberdeen Proving Ground, in Maryland. Here I will be participating in classes to become what the Army calls an automotive repairman. The name is rather misleading, because I won't be working on any cars at all .. just a little bit on jeeps .. primarily I'll be working on tanks and other track vehicles.
It's a self-paced course, supposed to run for 10 weeks; some have finished in 6 weeks, but I'm not getting my hopes up. The pace here in Aberdeen is much easier. A lot more free time, the privilege of wearing 'civies' after duty hours, and no drill sargeants. I'll relate what happens, as far as the classes are conceerned and a little more about Aberdeen Proving Ground in my next letter.
I will be home for Christmas ... happy hunting, happy Thanksiving, happy days.

JAN. 11, 1978
   In the last four months I have been physically, psychologically and mentally force-fed on a program unequalled by any Wisconsin feedlot. Not with a diet of corn and soybeans and the like, but with an all-green program called Army. I'm home again now, reflecting on what I learned, what I liked, what I didn't like and how this short Army initiation might affect the rest of my life. But before I get too far into total reflections, I'll tell you about my last weeks of Automotive Repairman school at Aberdeen Proving Grounds, Maryland.
   When I first arrived I told you how the pace was easier and that I was finally getting time to catch my breath. Well, that first impression didn't last long. Somewhere along the line I have developed a nasty habit of waking up in the morning. This perhaps doesn't seem too nasty to you, but it had developed so far along that upon the first ringing of a bell, blowing of a whistle, or (the ultimate sealing of my fate) a simple footstep on the barracks floor, I was awake, on my feet and ready to start the day.
   My barracks' sargeant (the footstep I referred to) was awake, too. Because when she got to my bunk each morning on her way to the light switch she noticed me, up and wide awake, and heaven forgive me ... smiling. (Another nasty habit.) That was enough after two and one-half weeks for her to turn me in. She was preparing to leave for her permanent duty station and figured she owed me something for hitting her with that nauseating grin every morning at 4:45. One day she call me out of formation to have me accompany her to the platoon sargeant's office. There, between the two of them, they pronounced judgement and sentencing. I was to take her place as barracks' sargeant of two floors of enlisted women. Of course they mumbled something about merit and maturity and classmates' respect, etc., but I knew better. From that day forward my days of ease and classes only, were over. The first thing she suggested was that I move off-base and make it a 4:45 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. job. I declined. There was a private room for me complete with a desk and my own window .. and a door. I figured no problems were strong enough to get through a locked door. I was wrong, or perhaps just too dumb to shut the door often enough.
   From my first week when they shut off my alarm in hopes of getting some extra sleep to the last week when they treated me to a rough-and-tumble all the way down the stairs 'blanket' party, the enlisted women taught me more about people than I could have learned in eight years of college. I was their morning alarm clock, uniform and barracks inspector, complaint department and suggestion box.
I made sure they were where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be there. I helped them to the hospital when they were sick, and up the stairs when they were drunk. I listened to their problems and their tragedies and shared in their triumphs and joys.
I had anywhere from 23 to 35 enlisted women in my barracks at one time; with some coming in and some shipping out every week. Not just Privates like myself, but every rank up to and including sargeant, who I sometimes think gave me more trouble than five privates put together.
   I counselled a girl five months pregrant to stay in (it was her dream) and helped her to finish the course in record time so she could get back to Germany to be with her husband; a woman suffering the mental torments of chronic alcoholism, and a returned AWOL (Absent With Out Leave) through her terrors of Court Marshall. I had females from every class, race, religion and sexual preference ... all on the same floor.
   Of course I was still a soldier with my own boots to shine, and uniforms to iron, plus a student working in an area I was almost totally unfamiliar with. And, of course, a wife and mother suffering my own pangs of homesickness. And, I was a private, just an acting sargeant who necessarily must respect those who outranked her. And, most infrequently, an individual woman. I had too little time to myself, in spite of the private room, and half wish I'd taken the previous barracks' sargeant's advice.
   It was a self-paced course, and I pushed myself in school in hopes of getting done, and being home, by Christmas. I accepted the knowhow of my teammates, usually male, to get through the spots they don't bother teaching you, assuming you already knew. I flew through tools, dead engines, electrical systems, brakes, and vehicles from jeeps and 1/2 ton trucks to fork lifts and gammagoats. When I got to the tank section I was ready to slow down, but by then the instructors had taken note of my gungho and they started pushing me where I'd left off pushing myself. And so I did get done by Christmas - finishing a 10-week coursse in just six weeks. I'm home again, with a diploma, a promotion and a lifetime of experiences after only 3 and 1/2 months!
   It feels good to be here and look back with a true feeling of accomplishment. I went fearing I'd be the last in my class, if I made it at all; and came out with a swelled head for having finished ahead of many of them. I've spent the last week getting to know my family again and just relaxing.

For the next dozen-plus years, I rose in the ranks of the National Guard. After attending Officer Candidate School and commanding in various positions within various units, I resigned my commission at the rank of Captain to learn new things and explore new opportunities. I had been the first female ordnance officer in a combat support unit, with 203 men and one woman under my command. I really liked my job.
                hubba hubba... no wait .. make that hut hut