Fort Jackson/Summer of 1983

The first time I went on an airplane was surreal, the freedom of flying, of flying the way I used to in dreams, the way we fly in dreams, without inhibition, or fear. We break away from our bodies, these heavy bodies with responsibilities and we roam the earth to search for ourselves.

Columbia was heavily wooded. Fort Jackson was the base I was to be trained on their slogan, “Victory Starts Here”, named after our 7th President Andrew Jackson.

We arrived at the reception station on Sunday, but I had started my period. I went to the bathroom as soon as I arrived and removed the tampon which I used for protection against the disease “menstruation.” It was slightly tainted pink with blood. Those same familiar cramps came; my cramps were very painful momma used to let me stay home from school the first day of my period. I would just lie under the covers all day moaning. The next day, I had to cope with handling my period the long day at school. The first days of my period were so heavy. I didn’t use tampons back then, and the pad would quickly fill up with blood, that I would leave drops of blood on the chair at school, and take the greatest discretion to wipe the blood when no one was looking, it was an embarrassing hardship. I’d always tie a jacket around my waist, and skip lunch depending on how heavy my period was, as walking worsened it. But I wasn’t home or even remotely close to home now. I went to my locker and swallowed two Midol pills. They didn’t go into affect right away, and I was dizzy and nauseated. I couldn’t even stand I was doubled over with pain.

When they gathered us for formation I could barely stand, so a girl I met named Joyce Ginsbach told the drill sergeant I was sick.

“I don’t think I’ll make it,” I said.

“You’ll make it”, she assured me.

I sat on the block wood curb until the last private went into the cafeteria.

The sergeant came over and told me to get up. I sat back down.

“Get up private.” He ordered.

I heard him, but pretended not to hear him.

“She’s sick” said Ginsbach, the girl I had just met said.

“Oh, okay, who’s your sergeant?”

I was assigned to Sergeant Sosebee. Sgt. Sosebee came over and thought I was dehydrated, so I let him believe I was. I got up and took small clumsy strides into the cafeteria. I squinted, and wobbled around as if to pass out, trying to bump into anything purposely I only wanted to sit down.

“What’s wrong with you, Private?”

“Dizzy”. I said.

“You’re dehydrated, private.” “You don’t get enough to drink.” He said with a Southern accent.

As dumb as doctors were so were drill sergeants. So he helped me sit in a chair, surprised I had made it this far. He brought me an iced glass of orange juice.

“Drink it.” He ordered.

I gave him a disbelieving look. I thought are you the hell serious?

“Drink it I won’t leave until you drink it.”

I sipped at it uncomfortably then quickly gulped it down.

“See, it felt good didn’t it private?” soon he brought me another glass of juice. “Drink it.”

I gave him another incredulous look and then slunk into the chair as if to faint.

He put something underneath my nose, and my eyes bulged, it was smelling salts to wake me up. It was a jolt back into reality, it hurt, the rough smell.

“What’s that?”

“Ammonia”, he said. “Woke you up, didn’t it?” He said half laughing as if the reason he went along was because he was starved for laughter this early in the morning.

He brought me two more glasses of orange juice. I wanted to go to the bathroom. I tilted my head like a drunk.

“Private why are you acting crazy?” “Are you hungry?” He said scratching his head. “What do you want?”

“I’m not hungry.” I quietly answered.

“At least eat a piece of toast.” He said.

I promptly obeyed and faked a stagger. I didn’t much feel like going back, but I saw him waiting for me. So I quickly hid behind the milk machine for a second, I knew I would have to return.

“You are a space cadet.” I think this was a Southern word for idiot.

I sat and nibbled on the toast, and sipped at the orange juice.

“Keep an eye on this private,” he told the other two privates sitting at the table and left.

I waited for him to leave, after he was gone out of sight, I left, stuffed the food through the other window, still nauseated. I sat for awhile then Ginsbach helped me back. Then Sgt. Sosebee told her to get me to bed.

We went to wardrobe, and were given all of our army fatigues, brown t-shirts, P.T. shorts, dress greens, black army boots, mine were a size 4W. We were given dog tags that we were to wear vigilantly around our necks.

I was eventually assigned to Bravo-7-2. Staff Sgt. Garland Hollins was the Senior Field Leader, and my drill sergeant was Sgt. Satterwhite and Sgt. Newsome. Sgt. Satterwhite was a young tall black, he said he was 24 but he looked more like 30. He wore fatigues and a smoky the Bear hat. All the drill sergeants did. Sgt. Newsom was a female black sergeant she was responsible for the floor since men could not come up to the floor without someone warning, “Male on the floor.” Sgt. Newsom didn’t wear a Smoky the Bear hat, the women sergeants used to wear dark green hats that were pushed to one side. Sometimes she was worse than he was.

My best friend was a petite blonde named Lorie Brown she was an 18 year old from Ohio. She was from my platoon, Ace, Joyce Ginsbach a red head from Oregon, was 19 she was from Deuce platoon. She had been my friend when I first went to the reception station. Brown was in the bunk next to mine. But everyone was a better soldier than I was.

I used to take my small notebook with me, to scribble some notes. Almost immediately Sgt. Hollins noticed my notebook at breakfast, and confiscated it. He used to sit up front with the cadre that is what they were called. Sgt. Garland Hollins was our senior field leader. He was also black, about 35, maybe older. The sergeants were either black or white there weren’t any Hispanic drill sergeants. He took an almost immediate dislike to me. Don’t ask me why, but I liked him, maybe because he always called out my name, “Duran.”

The formation was a cemented square, under a concrete roof, the four platoons were like dormitories and the office beneath the platoons was the sergeant’s office. Very quickly I began to wonder why I joined. We woke up at 4:30 every morning and were at formation at 5:00, to start P.T. physical training until 7:00 and we didn't eat breakfast until 8:00. Physical training comprised of push-ups, side-straddles, mountain climbers, and jumping jacks, followed by a 2 mile run. I soon discovered I wasn’t good at running.

We sang a lot of Army cadences when we did our 2 mile run. One of the songs we sang the most was this one.

They say that in the Army the coffee's mighty fine It looks like muddy water and tastes like turpentine

But oh what a way

What a way

What a way

To fight a war

Fort Jackson!

They say that in the Army the chow is mighty fine a chicken jumped off the table and started marking time But oh what a way

What a way

What a way

To fight a war

Fort Jackson!

They say that in the Army the biscuits are mighty fine one rolled off the table and killed a friend of mine

But oh what a way

What a way

What a way

To fight a war

Fort Jackson! They say that in the Army the training's might fine last night there were ten of us, now there's only nine

But oh what a way

What a way

What a way

To fight a war

Fort Jackson!

They say that in the Army the pay is mighty fine they give you a hundred dollars and take back ninety-nine But oh what a way

What a way

What a way

To fight a war

Fort Jackson!

This was the Army, running and singing cadences they think it will take our mind off of the pain of shin splints. But it doesn’t. It didn’t.

In the beginning we took classes on army etiquette, army justice, and were given a smart book where we were to be tested on 29 tasks mostly about first aid, to knowing how to dress a wound, to how to put on a splint. Sgt. Satterwhite said this was like our bible. Sgt. Satterwhite didn’t like me either.

____________________________________________________________

On September 7, we went into the gas chamber. It was the most horrible feeling of my life, it wasn’t despair it was a feeling of death.

First they had us learn how to use the gas mask properly, putting it on and off taking it off, and all the proper procedures. It was hot and muggy in that mask, I could hardly breathe. Then it was almost time for our trip to the gas chamber. They had us check our gas masks or rather they checked them for us. I didn’t pass the first station so I didn’t get to go in with my buddy Brown. Chamblin and I had our masks checked together. The sergeant tightened it so hard I couldn’t breathe without gasping and I was really scared. We were in line and I was in doubt about breathing in my protective mask.

The sergeants sent in ten more soldiers. I went in with the others and the room was filled with smoke. Then I thanked God I had my gas mask. The drill sergeant in their gas masks also wore green chemical suits and the drill sergeant at the exit had a broom, in case we wanted to bolt early. The soldiers in front of me were instructed to take off their masks. When they removed their masks they gasped for air, spit up saliva and choked. When they told us to remove our masks, I didn’t want to, I thought it was a trick. I thought they were crazy for wanting me to take off my mask so I left mine on.

Finally the sergeant yelled, “Take it off! Take it off!

I was forced to take it off, the torture was unreal. The air actually attacked me, my throat shrank, my lungs gasping for a breath of decent air, which I couldn’t give it there was none to be found. My flesh started to burn around my neck, it burned intensely, my arms and my eyes were on fire. I couldn’t even see straight, I grabbed for the ground as refuge. I tried to grab the drill sergeant. My whole body began to convulse, it was dying. Every part of my body was tearing. My mind screamed at me, Get out! I wanted to exit that back door, but my heart told me to stay and do it for momma, the girls and for myself. Each second seemed like an hour, and I felt like if I didn’t die I wanted to. I imagined this was what the entrance to hell must have been like, the drill sergeants demons. I don’t remember what happened next, but somehow I had all my equipment and headed out the door, crowding in front of another soldier.

On the way out, the air was alien to me, I still continued to burn, my eyes couldn’t feel the blinks, they burned intensely. My air passage still had smoke, so I gasped. I don’t know why my mind didn’t control me my heart did in the gas chamber and what happened after. I needed for someone to tell me I would be alright. I wanted to cry out to momma. I saw Sergeant Hollins something drew me to him. I was racked with physical and mental anguish. I just stood in front of him as if I wanted an apology for this cruel act. Just seeing Sgt. Hollins made me feel better, I just stood in front of him, attempting to speak. He reminded me of daddy, and when he scolded me instead of dislike it the way I should have I actually liked it, and looked forward to the next time he said anything to me.

I asked him, why did they do this to us? Why did they make us take off our gas masks? He looked at me I don’t know it looked like a sympathetic and understanding look like he knew what I was feeling, which he said he did. He said sergeants had to do it too. He assured me I would begin to feel better in a little while and I wasn’t going to die. “Just walk up the hill.” Hollins said.

But I didn’t walk up the hill immediately. He said I would feel normal in a little while. He told me to come to parade rest. He was like a refuge after that horrible ordeal. I was alive again.

We moved on to the next station.

That night at the barracks I told the girls my ordeal and we walked into Sergeant Hollins and he just stared at me, as I told my story with extenuated humor like he remembered seeing me racked with pain. Then I stopped and he left to see Sergeant Satterwhite, on the way back he said to me, “Why do they do this?” as if to mock me.

I only replied, “Yes, sergeant.”

I shot live ammo for the first time. We marched to the range zeroing in was the task for the day. Sergeant Boone reminded me of Brer Bear, he was the sergeant who took us out to the range.

My coach and I the soldier lay on the ground next to me leaning into the right ready to shoot. I prepared to shoot the M-16 AI rifle. I waited for the solid boom but all I got was a click, so I did sports the “thing” we performed on the weapon for a misfire, and I was ready once more, expecting a boom but got another click. So after a couple of more clicks, Sgt. Satterwhite came over cussing. I assumed that Sgt. Hollins would be on my back but it was Satterwhite. He looked at me with that disappointed face. “Why are you even here?” look.

“Get off my space ship.” Satterwhite seemed to tease.

“I’m not on a space ship.” I answered confused.

Then Sgt Satterwhite winked at me.

Sgt Satterwhite warned me if I was writing without authorization, he would confiscate my notebook and pen next time. I was always writing at inappropriate times trying to get down what was going on in my life at the time before I forgot, they didn’t understand.

Sgt Hollins made me empty my B.D.U. (Battle Dress Uniform, fancy word for fatigues.) pockets the other day. I had ripped my pocket the other day from carrying so much stuff as Sgt. Hollins put it. He had me empty my pocket until the last trinket was exposed. It was my smart book, 2 small notebooks, 3 pens, my camouflage wallet, letters I was going to mail to momma, and some chewing gum.

Sgt. Hollins and the other drill sergeants warned me not to smile all of the time. Sgt. Dozier the second platoon sergeant dropped me for push-ups for smiling. He cleaned my weapon and discovered a firing pin was missing, so he had me sit under a tree until the maintenance truck arrived. Since it was so hot one of the girls suggested we take off our helmets. I walked the girl with a sprained foot to the truck that came for her. And I swear from at least three hundred feet from Hollins, he still saw me.

“Duran get your helmet on!”

I pretended not to hear him putting my hand to my ear in a gesture that I didn’t hear him which I had, and we both knew I had.

So I got back and I put my helmet on and reported to Hollins. And he blew up at me.

“Duran, why are you always trying to piss me off?” He gave me a look as if I continually tried his patience.

“Did I think this was a game?” I did. He continued his tirade saying he wasn’t going to put up with me anymore.

It was raining most of the afternoon. He ordered me to do “Twenty push-ups Duran!” So I pushed down in the mud, rain streaming down my face, going all the way down in the mud while he stood there. After I was done with the final push-up his mood seemed to change. He looked at me, felt my pockets, and said,

“You have about a 100 cookies in there, I know you do Duran, and you just finished the last ones up.” A smile curved over his lips his eyes were no longer angry.

“No sergeant, no cookies here.” I answered.

He said he still saw the crumbs around my lips. There wasn’t much sense to that conversation. I think he wanted to let me know he wasn’t angry at me anymore. Sergeant Hollins wore spectacles, and had those eyes that seemed to bulge out slightly. He was light complicated for an African-American. I loved his black mustache. He vowed to me he would graduate me out of basic.

Sergeant Satterwhite tripped me the other day, deliberately. He tapped on my helmet like I was a child, kicked my heels and tripped me.

“Do you know what?” “Do you think I would whup your ass if you were my little girl?”

I was bewildered by his comment.

Sergeant Hollins was always checking my mouth for gum and my pockets for candy. He caught me chewing gum the other day and had me put it on the end of my nose. He said he was pulling for me, and that he was proud of me for all of my accomplishments. I saw Senior Field Leader Staff Sergeant Hollins as a father and I shouldn’t have.

Hollins never really told me not to smile as he had a brilliant smile himself. I sometimes smiled not being aware, and Dozier dropped me for push-ups, though he smiled a lot himself. I had my weapon with me, and laid it down, and did my push -ups.

As I started doing my push–ups, Hollins yelled at me “Duran!”

“Wipe that smile off of your face.” He said he didn’t want to see me smile anymore.

“In formation or in general?” I asked. He didn’t answer.

“You smile robustly.” He said. “Do you know what that means?”

“Define Sergeant.” I said.

“That will be your project, look up robustly. Whenever Sgt. Hollins opened his mouth everyone knew the name he had on his tongue was Duran.

The other day Sergeant Hollins confiscated a letter daddy wrote me. I had written daddy that the drill sergeants made me take off my gas mask, and he wanted to know who gave the order.

I was on detail on weapons guard. I was reading daddy’s letter about the gas chamber, and Sgt. Hollins saw me reading it. So I handed him the letter and I said read it. He was infuriated. He said everyone had to take off their gas masks not just you.

“I know, I didn’t say it was just me.”

“Give me the letter”, he barked. So the letter went through the chain of command. They finally returned my letter.

Later when I went for my protective gear I dropped my mask when Boone handed it to me and just cracked up. Hollins called me over.

“I thought you told me you were in the Army to support your mother and father.”

“I said my mother.”

“Are your parents divorced?” he asked.

“Yes Sergeant?”

“Well, he makes 20,000 times as much as you do.” Sgt. Hollins retorted.

If he only knew daddy, daddy was a bit of a con artist.

“My daddy doesn’t support us.” I protested.

“Are you lying to me, I can always tell if you are lying.”

Today I went out to the shooting range this was my last chance to qualify. If I didn’t I would have to be re-cycled to another company. This was my 6th and final try. I didn’t like shooting. I didn’t like squeezing the trigger I knew someone would get hurt. Everyone in my company had qualified except for me, Jenkins, Eaddy, Mitchell and Woodington. Hollins wished Woodington luck in front of me, and didn’t’ even wish me luck, what a petty man I thought.

My platoon encouraged me, hugging me and wishing me luck. We pulled away in the truck, not knowing the outcome of the event, it was a gamble. Everything was a gamble, and we all gambled at one time or another, such as believing in someone could turn out to be a real gamble, the way I had believed in Sgt. Hollins. We got there and we waited another good hour. Sgt Boone was with us. He wished us all luck before we fired and gave us lollipops, mine was yellow. We all spoke to Chaplain Martin. He prayed for me. Then we went to take our turn firing. I followed the usual procedure which I could now even do in my sleep.

I wasn’t really thinking of anything but I walked out to that firing line and sat my back turned to the “firer.” I was thinking of the Rocky theme and the song “the eye of the tiger” that if you want something bad enough you have to have the look. Our platoon took first in BRM. I didn’t even hear the firing sergeant call for us to secure our magazine rounds, finally Boone called, “Duran.” Then I jumped up. When I was shooting I had more determination this time. I realized it was my last chance or get recycled to another company. It was just me and the targets.

After I finished I spoke to the Chaplain again, he assured me I made it, but I didn’t’ believe him because I couldn’t believe I made it. He said one of us didn’t make it. Jenkins felt it was her.

I wondered how much pain she was going through now that she was the only one in the whole company who didn’t qualify. Somewhere in the back of my mind I wondered if Hollins wanted it to be me. Sgt. Boone announced 27 for Duran, and I screamed, “I made it!” But when Jenkins didn’t make it, I became angry, like this was a terrible cruel thing. What was so important about qualifying? My countenance quickly changed from ecstatic to sour. To kill that was what this training was for, so who should be proud certainly not me. Then I asked Boone what was so important about 23? I didn’t even want to put my camouflage cover over my helmet. I lied and told him it was back in my locker, even though it sat right inside my pocket. So Jenkins gave me hers. That is the way Sgt. Hollins wanted it when he nonchalantly drove up. He knew our scores. In fact a lot of people knew before us. Captain Owens was there he knew, the Chaplain knew and God only knew who else? It was Captain Owens who told the Chaplain I made it. Captain Owens had a great big smile. Then Sergeant Hollins wanted me to put the camouflage over my helmet what was it to him. I’m the one who came out here six times, if I didn’t want to put the camouflage on who was he to try and change my mood? Sergeant Boone thought I didn’t care but I did. We hopped on the truck and went to the Bastogne. I didn’t feel good.

When we got off Hollins was to take us to our respective places. Still hounding me about something, first about my helmet, how it wasn’t on properly. I said, “I never wore one before Sgt.”

“Put the camo on.” Then he growled about my tennis shoes, what business was that of his. I was on profile because of the shin splints from running. He wanted to see my profile. I thought what damn business was it of his.

When he brought Eaddy and me back, my platoon yelled, grabbed me, shook me, and told me they were so proud of me. Hollins was still there, irked.

“She didn’t want to make it”, he said.

Then the girls asked me why I felt bad. Dunham was the oldest soldier she was 34, she said she was glad her little buddy made it, and Casillas and I talked for a bit. Casillas was Puerto Rican, with green eyes. Some of the drill sergeants would confuse us, but she always said, “I’m the one with the green eyes.”

When I first got there the Puerto Rican girls from New York thought I was Puerto Rican, but when I told them I was Mexican American they didn’t like me so much after that. Lourdes was Puerto Rican and was actually from Puerto Rico, she called me the little child, she was 24.

Sgt. Hollins just looked at me dismayed. I was tired of him. He was tired of me, and he pretty much left me alone after that.

We learned about machine guns and the claymore mine. Later that afternoon I saw Ginsbach, she used to call me “Beetle Bailey.” Then Lorie my best buddy hugged me.

On the march back to the barracks Sgt. Satterwhite asked Bingham to sing, but she didn’t want to so he asked her again, but she still didn’t want to so then he asked me. At first I was reluctant to but by this time I was so elated, and I had to do something, so I sang. Satterwhite said to come and stand by him.

I sang the Ace Platoon song, and my voice cracked.

“You know you gotta have some lovin,

some Ace Platoon loving,

or I’ll shrivel up and blow away” I started off with a smile.

“Gotta have a smile, an Ace platoon smile,

gotta have a smile,

or I’ll shrivel up and blow away.”

“You gotta be qualified, Ace platoon qualified.”

I was getting ahead of myself so thrilled that I avoided all of the commands and sang out loud, I belted it out proudly my hands in the air, snapping I was so enthusiastic, Sgt. Satterwhite had to grab me by my L.B.E. to hold me back, and to halt them but I continued going but he grabbed me by the belt to stop me.

“Parade Rest!” I ecstatically sounded off.

“Ace is High, Deuce is low, third and fourth are no go. Ace!”

Sgt. Satterwhite put me in the front of the chow line. He was beaming for me and Eaddy. Hollins and Dozier laughed seeing me beam.

The push-ups were always the worst part. My body would shake a lot at the front leaning rest as it was called, especially my arms, they would quiver until I couldn’t do anymore. The drill sergeants were men after all, they liked to hurt me, their narrow eyes in front of mine, invading my personal space, that’s where they liked to be pushed into my face, screaming obscenities at me, telling me how they owned my mind, body and soul lock stock and barrel.

Marching my arms were weary from holding my rifle in my arms, my back was hunched and pinched from the rucksack pushed deep I over packed it again. My temples hurt from the head band that stuck inside my helmet, and all that could be seen was forest and sand, the beaches of Omaha so I knew I had quite a way to go. We marched all of the time, had to double time with full gear heading home from a shooting range.

My eyes didn’t blink as much anymore, they were tired all the time from waking up at 4:30 in the morning, even if you were in pain or exhausted you just dragged your body out of bed and went down to the formation.

Shooting was hard I cried the first time I had to discharge the M16-AI. But sergeants wouldn’t tolerate a female, as they called us who were afraid. The firing sergeant just jammed the back end of the weapon into my shoulder bruising me. It was hard to qualify. On qualification day I only shot a 14, the second time I shot 18, then 21, then 22, the last time I was allowed to qualify I shot a 27 and got my marksman. The sergeants used to tell me

“I’d rot over here.”

I bruised my mouth when I hit my mouth with the rifle. I was so desperate to go home I wanted to shoot myself in the foot so I could go home.

P.T. was horrible, I couldn’t run, almost immediately I got shin splints, the muscle would pull away from the bone, you could literally see the lumps on my leg. I used to drop out of running formation, I would gasp and gasp, my heart would beat out of my chest, and then I would drop out of formation.

Sgt Hunt used to walk with a stick, and tell me he would beat me with it if I didn’t clean my weapon properly.

On the weekends we had fire guard, six hour shifts. From 12:00 to 6:00 a.m. They had me pull someone else’s fire guard the next night.

At night on our free time we spit shine our boots and sat out on the patio in front of the barracks. That was really the only time I had to write home.

I was feeling sick, I had pain under my breast it was hard to breathe, coughing just hurt more, so I tried not to cough. I would go on sick call the next day.

I have gotten through the worst of it.

No one came to my graduation from Basic Training, momma was too far and too poor, and daddy didn’t bother to come. After graduation, I went to my AIT which was also on Fort Jackson.

I wasn’t supposed to come to my AIT until next year, but a misunderstanding occurred my orders were written up for consecutive training. I was a 71 Lima, which was a clerk typist. I was there for three months before I was released to go to college.

I was sent the following year back to Fort Jackson.

(This is a photo of Senior Field Leader Sergeant Hollins.)