nothing but a GD liar aren’t you?” “Yes, I am,” Jim replied. Mel, backhanding him hard across the face, turning Jim’s head the other way, then said, “Your whole family is nothing but liars!” Jim again agreed, saying, “Yes, you’re right!” Striking him again with a full open hand slap, the commander said, “Your mother is nothing but a liar!” “Yes!” Jim replied. Backhanding him again, Mel said, “Your father is nothing but a liar!” “You’ve got that right!” Jim said.
Frustrated, the commander then said to Jim, “You think you’re going to be a pain in my butt, don’t you?” “Of course, I’m trying” Jim boldly agreed. “Well you’re not! You are a pain in the butt of everyone in your company. I’m going to turn you over to them, and let them straighten you out!” Jim just looked coldly and emotionlessly into the commander’s eyes, no sign of fear. Perhaps he had no idea of what horror was to come as the result of what the commander had just done. I don’t think at that point, any of us actually realized what gravely bad judgment the company commander had made in his decision.
I must admit, at first, not fully understanding the seriousness of Jim’s condition, I participated in his “straightening out.” I, like many others, was thinking he was just being a smart aleck goof off. So occasionally I would come by him and give him a light punch on the arm saying, “Straighten out buddy!” But soon things were to become progressively worse.
One morning at around two o’clock, we were awakened and told we had to get dressed and go outside to find Jim. It appears he decided to try to run away. The temperature was 20 degrees outside, so no one was happy; especially as we were due to get up at 6 A.M. to begin another busy day. After about an hour of searching, they found Jim hiding in a dumpster. He was brought back to the barracks, and a guard was assigned to watch him every hour.
That morning as I was coming out of the bathroom, having shaved and gathered my laundry, which had dried overnight on the line, I watched Jim being run around and around the barracks by the acting mail petty officer. I knew they had kept him up all that night, cleaning the tile floor in the bathroom with a toothbrush. The acting mail petty officer would run him around, then order Jim to stop. He would then ask him to turn to the port side. Jim would turn to his left. At this, the guy would hit Jim in the back so hard you could hear his lungs echo. “That’s not port stupid,” his torturer would say. “Yes it is,” Jim would accurately reply. Pounding him in the back again, the bad guy would say, “Don’t you tell me what is and isn’t port. If I say that isn’t port, then it isn’t port!”
This was how it had gone for about thirty minutes. Any direction Jim chose to turn was the wrong direction according to his torturer. Always this would elicit a hard punch in the back as his reward for being wrong. When I was nearing the door to our bathroom, my laundry over my shoulder; the acting mail petty officer decided to stop to get a drink of water from the nearby fountain. They were standing approximately thirty feet away from me.
The bad guy got his drink of water as Jim watched. “Would you like a drink of water,” he asked Jim. Nodding his head yes, he told Jim to go ahead. Then suddenly he stopped Jim. “Wait a minute, there’s something missing!” The bad guy then commanded Jim to open his mouth. As Jim did, he yanked off his hat, rolling it up; he placed it in Jim’s open mouth. “Do you still want a drink,” he asked. Again nodding his head yes, Jim went to remove his hat, as he bent over. “No you don’t! Leave the hat in!”
Running the water, with his hat inside his mouth, Jim attempted to get water inside his parched body. Suddenly, the acting mail petty officer pushed down on Jim’s head from behind. This caused the fountain’s cover to cut into Jim’s gums. He was bleeding rapidly, and yet still attempting to get water into his mouth. Pounding his back again, the bad guy said, “Now look what you’ve done, you’ve got your hat all red with blood. You are so STUPID!”
I had seen enough. I casually made the comment out loud to myself, “I’ve never seen anyone so badly mistreated;” not knowing (really not even caring to know) that Fred, the acting master at arms was standing directly behind me, and had overheard what I had said to myself. This guy Fred looked and sounded like the actor George Kennedy in his appearance and voice. Most likely he was chosen to be the master at arms, because he was the largest guy in the company. At least 6’5, Fred called to me from behind saying, “Mistreated! What do you mean he’s mistreated? How about the way he’s treating us? Don’t you ever let me hear you say he’s mistreated again!”
I just calmly looked Fred in the eyes and replied, “Look, if I say he’s mistreated, he’s mistreated!” I was ready and eager to fight Fred if it came to that. But the acting mail petty officer, having overheard our loud disagreement, called out to me. “Hey buddy! How would you like to be in his place?” My Irish temper knew the perfect remark he needed to hear. “Buddy, if I were in his place, I’d knock your teeth out!” “Oh yeah! You want to try?” “Sure, I’d be glad to,” I said, as I began to walk toward him. I WAS MAD!
Then from behind a voice called out, “Wait, if we get into a fight over this guy, we all will be held over for six months. I don’t know about you, but this place has not been fun, it’s more like Hell! Please don’t fight over this kid,” he begged. Others joined in, agreeing with the mystery voice. “O.K., I said, but if I see you hitting that kid again, I’m going to hit you – repeatedly, until even your mother won’t recognize you.” At this, the bad guy pushed on Jim, then walked away from him.
Pretty tense huh? Don’t worry. It gets much, much worse!
Poor Jim, he got the infamous wire brush scrub down in the shower. Blood would be streaming from his arms, chest, back, and legs. During this, several guys would strike him with wet towels.
How did Jim take this? He would laugh and say, “Hit me again!” Or he would taunt them, pointing, saying, “You missed hitting me here!” They would keep him up all night, taking turns with him, having him fold the same shirt over and over again – all night! How did he respond to that? Speaking not a word, he would look at them is if they weren’t there, while folding again and again.
The worst of the treatment Jim received came from three guys from Brooklyn. One day they announced, “He’s our boy, we’ll take care of him.” From that point on, the head bully from Brooklyn (let’s affectionately call him “Dumbo”) and his two little flunkies,’ “Dumb & Dumber,” proceeded to make Jim’s life a sadistic nightmare. Whenever they wanted or felt like it, they would come up to Jim and beat him from head to toe.
Even at night, after Taps and the lights were turned out, they would come over to Jim’s bunk and beat on him. How did Jim respond to this? He would laugh as he said, “Hit me again, hit me here!” In the morning when you would get up, Jim’s white pillow case and sheets were red with blood. This became both a daily and nightly occurrence, and was starting to get on some of our nerves.
MARCHING LIKE “F” TROOP
One day as we were practicing marching on the parade ground
I had a fun thing happen. At least it was fun for me. As Reservist, we were terrible at marching in unison. We looked like the guys on the old TV series F Troop. They would say to the left flank march, half of the guys went left, the rest continued going the way they were originally marching. The command to the rear march, got even funnier results, as guys would turn and run into one another. They kept breaking us down into smaller and smaller groups. Finally, we were reduced to columns of two. The company commander counted thirteen, pulling out the odd guy who was standing at the end, and telling him he was to count cadence.
Who was the lucky and definitely “odd” guy in my group? It was none other than the head bully from Brooklyn. This guy was as pathetic as the rest of us. He had no idea of what he was doing. On top of that, a cold wind was blowing as a blizzard was going on, so it was difficult to hear unless the guy shouted really loud.
I was marching at the front of the left hand side. The bully was at the rear of the column of two, six guys long. He made a whispered command which I did not hear. All of a sudden I felt lonely. Looking to my right,