My wife Melba and I were engaged to be married but were going to wait until I finished my service stint. However, when I got to Camp Polk, where I was to take basic training, that decision came into question.
When we were 8 weeks through the 16-week cycle to become POR-qualified, 30 of us from our 200-man company were randomly pulled out to take cooks training on the job in the mess hall. This really made sense as I was a farm boy and had studied mechanics at the University of Nebraska Ag College. Naturally, that made me a prime soldier to become a cook!
We went through the induction routine in Fort Omaha and were then loaded on a bus to go to Camp Crowder. By then, it was dark. The bus stopped in Shenandoah to pick up the last 12 guys. While there, they took us to a restaurant for our supper. They watched everyone closely to see that we stayed together and were good boys. Unfortunately, a couple of the guys from Shenandoah had other plans. They went to the restroom, with the sergeant’s permission, as one said he wasn’t feeling very well. We found out later that one of them went out the restroom window and next door to the liquor store. He got the store owner, a friend, to take a bunch of booze to the bus and stash it in the rear of the bus. About the time the sergeant decided he better check on the two guys, they came out of the restroom. We went to the bus and nearly had some fights as the guys who were in on the liquor deal all wanted to sit in the back of the bus and some of the Omaha guys were already in those seats. They got it worked out and we were on our way to Camp Crowder, an induction center near Joplin, Mo. Melba’s dad helped prepare the place before we moved up to Omaha. We got there at about 2 am after a very eventful trip. The drinking guys knew that the sgt. would probably smell the booze so they really drank down fast. Sure enough, Barney and I and some of the others who weren’t involved were sitting in the forward seats visiting and talking with the sgt., who until that time was really a fairly nice guy. He asked us if we smelled something and took off for the back of the bus. There were at least 10-12 guys involved with the liquor escapade and so drunk they were out of it. He confiscated what was left of the liquor, then the fun started. In Missouri, they had weigh scales and the bus had to be balanced just right or it would be overloaded on either the front or back axle. The driver stopped in a little Missouri town, where he knew the elevator man, and had him check the weights. We were overloaded on the rear because of what all the drinkers had piled on back there. Barney and I and some other farm boys had to help the sgt. drag some guys farther forward until the bus was balanced. Then we had to make sure that they stayed where they were seated, as we went over three different scales. Needless to say, the sgt. was no longer a nice guy. He was livid and we learned some of the Army’s “slang” very quickly.
When we reached Camp Crowder, an hour later than expected, a colonel met the bus wanting to know what the $%*# was wrong. They were going to put us in a barracks close to the bus stop but the sgt. and the colonel were so mad they marched us clear across the camp; the drinkers really suffered as we weren’t allowed to help them and were told that if they didn’t get to the barracks with the rest of us, they would start their Army careers AWOL and be in the guardhouse until they were court martialed. I’m not sure if it was accurate, but they drug themselves along with the rest of us who marched, if you could call it that. We finally got to a dark barracks and went in. We stopped on the first floor but the sgt. said no way were we getting those nice bunks. He took us upstairs where there were bed frames with springs but no mattresses or bedding. The rest of us were going to suffer for the sins of the drinkers. That was a common practice in the Army, especially in basic training. Sgt. Parker, who you will hear about later, told us that all the discipline was intended to make us rely on each other and to trust each other when we got into battle. All it did that first night was to make enemies of about 1/3 of the guys on that bus.
Needless to say, we didn’t sleep very much that night. The next morning we were taken to the quartermasters depot and given our clothes. They would ask what size we wore and then give us a size or two bigger. Boots were always one size larger than you normally wore too. As it turned out, they knew what they were doing as we all put on weight on our upper bodies during basic training from all the calisthenics and the heavy food they gave us. Also, our feet spread out from all the marching and running so everything eventually fit, but that first few weeks we all looked kind of sloppy as our clothes were too big for us. After we got our clthes, we put them in a duffle bag which became our constant companion. We sent our civilian clothes home as we weren’t allowed to wear them and there wasn’t enough room in our duffle bags to keep everything. After the clothes were handed out, we went into the next room. Surprise! The barber shop! I didn’t have a problem as I had short hair anyway, but we had a few guys from Omaha with long hair, one especially with long curly hair. I have never seen a faster haircut. They had a clipper with a head about 2 or 2 ½ inches wide. It had a ramp under the bar that was about ¼ inches high around each side and you were “skinned.” What griped most the worst was that they charged us a dollar for a haircut we really didn’t want.
Then we began what was probably the most boring and frustrating part of our Army careers. We were assigned to a temporary company to await our orders for which training camp we would be assigned to. They split us up into groups from each different community and state. None of the Butler county guys I was drafted with were in my “outfit." Fortunately, Barney and I were still together. Every morning was the same routine. We were awakened at 6am by a trumpet playing wake-up reveille at 7 am. Everyone had to be in formation and ready to go at that time. After reveille formation we marched, and this is where our “close order drill” training began, before breakfast. Close order drill was what the Army called all the marching, done whether in groups or singly. It was amazing to me that some guys didn’t know their right from their left. Our drill sergeant gave those guys a stone to hold in their left hand and then gave commands by “stone foot, right foot.” Some never did master it while at Camp Crowder. Breakfast was always the same – scrambled eggs, greenish in color as they were powdered; bacon, sometimes crisp and sometimes barely warmed; SOS, stuff on a shingle, (I think you know what stuff refers to), which was creamed chipped beef on a piece of toast; juice and coffee. Part of our entertainment, as we got more bored waiting for our orders, was to guess if the coffee would be strong enough to melt a spoon or so weak you could see the bottom of the cup. We found out later that the reason the food at Crowder was so poor was that the cooks, who were short-timers who were about to be discharged, were feeding different guys almost every day so they just went through the motions of cooking and the recruits suffered for it. After breakfast we “policed” the area. Seriously, our orders every time were, “if you see something on the ground, pick it up; if you can’t pick it up, paint it; and if it moved salute it”.
After about a week, those of us with “B” profiles were loaded on a troop train which carried us to Camp Polk, now Fort Polk, for our basic training. As I stated before, I was pulled out for on-the-job cook training. Cooks worked from after noon one day until noon the next day. You prepared supper and then breakfast and dinner, and then were off for 24 hours. The real beauty was that you were off from Friday noon until Monday noon. Because of all the time off, I called Melba and told her to get down there and marry me before I rang one of those “southerner belles." She obliged and we were married on May 23, 1953. That was definitely the most enjoyable part of my Army career. The last week of cook training, we went on bivouac in the beautiful (just kidding) boonies of Louisiana. Our whole regiment went out in the boonies, of which there was an abundance at Camp Polk. In fact, that is about all it was. Cooking in the field was a real adventure. Once a day, someone had to go back with a ____and a half and picked up the supplies for the next day. We took turns and when it was my turn, I forgot a very important duty. We also had to bring back gasoline for the big camp stoves we cook on and I forgot it. The Mess Sgt. Said, “OK Glock, you screwed up, you find us some gas.” Finally, one of the older guys in the supply tent came to my rescue, at least partially. He said they didn’t have any gas to spare but I should find an unattended jeep that is full and siphon out a 5-gallon can full. I went around checking unattended jeeps until I found a full one. I didn’t notice it had a star painted on the hood. It was Gen. Kreber’s jeep. He was there to inspect the maneuvers. I had just gotten the gas sucked up to my mouth when his driver came around a tree and hollered, “what the &%$*#! are you doing?” I chocked and swallowed gasoline (don’t do it). I really felt terrible and the taste was really bad, but the Mess Sgt. didn’t do me a favor with his favorite remedy for any ailment, a shot of whiskey. He told me that would remove the taste and settle my stomach. It did after I lost everything I had eaten for a week. We also had to keep a guard posted as there were porcupines and wild hogs in the boonies and they like to come after food in the mess area. We weren’t allowed to shoot them but had to devise innovative methods of discouraging them. Along with the hogs and porcupines, we had huge tarantula spiders which gave most of us the willies.