One day when the band was out playing Retreat—
they played Retreat once a week and a parade once a month,
and all the rest was dance bands at the NCO Club and the Officer’s Club,
for which they got paid extra, since it was after-duty—the CO, a warrant officer
named Mr. Azzolina, came through the band barracks and accosted me.
“What are you doing in the band barracks?” “I’m in the band.”
“Why aren’t you out playing Retreat?” “I haven’t been issued any music.”
While this was technically true, it was misleading. I should have said,
“I’m not good enough yet.” He said, “Report to the orderly room
Monday morning to be auditioned.” I failed the audition.
I didn’t know the drum rudiments and I couldn’t sight-read
very well. “You have been mis-classified,” he said.
“You are not a three-level. You are a one-level.
We’re not in the training business.”
He told me to report to Base Personnel
to be reclassified. They made me
an Air Operations Specialist
at B-25 Operations. A dispatcher.
In a Navigator Training Squadron.
I was in a barracks full of Category 4s.
The lowest quartile on the intelligence test.
The Army had to take them so the other branches
of the service had to take some too. They were bad to fight.
They got shit-faced drunk and put their fists through the sheetrock.
The worse thing was the hi-fi wars, between the shitkickers and
the urban music. The rednecks and the black experience citizens.
They both set the volume at 10. It was a madhouse. It was Bedlam.
Also, I pulled a lot of extra-duty shit-details, to keep the buildings for
the student navigators, who were officers, clean, and the fire lanes
outside weed-free, and the grass mowed on the drill field.
I sacked groceries at the commissary for military dependents.
I worked at the base golf course. I remember the GIs
in From Here To Eternity objecting to picking up used Kotexes
in the officers quarters. They had to pay for their pussy
on
And they didn’t have a lot of money
to do it with. They were 27-day soldiers.
They took a three-day pass once a month and got drunk
and got laid and bought their cigarettes and razor blades.
When you joined the Airman’s Club you got four free haircuts.
One a week. They had Bingo night. You might hit a jackpot.
They had slot machines. You could get a chit book on credit.