In January 1954, several weeks into boot camp at the U.S. Naval Training Center in Bainbridge, Md., it was a cold Sunday morning, a time when things eased up a bit.
I was taking a hot shower when the fire alarm went off. Now, the routine was to vacate the area and form outside the building for muster. In my 17-year-old wisdom, I decided it was just another stupid drill and ignored it. This was a serious lack of good judgment. I had forgotten that my body and soul no longer belonged to me, but to Co. 28, 4th Regiment, 45th Battalion, and my absence was noted at the muster.
Suddenly, I heard the bellow of my chief, “Lebel! Where the H*** are you?” Spying me in the shower room, another bellow, “Get your *** outside. NOW.” As I made a frantic grab for my towel, a final order. “Leave it. Leave it.”
So there I was, running out of the barracks, soaking wet, shower shoes my only adornment, amid good-natured whistles and catcalls from my mates.
It was cold, of course, so I sought shelter from the wind among my buddies, as wet as I was. As if by unspoken agreement, they all moved away from me, leaving me isolated, in full view of anyone who cared to look. They thought it was a great joke, and the joke was on me.
Just then, a company of boo WAVES marched in formation across the street at the end of our barracks. Now, naked in front of other guys is one thing, but naked to the hungry gaze of about sixty young ladies is another. Their CO, who did not need to stare ahead as did her charges, spotted me, of course. In a moment of devilish amusement, I guess, she promptly ordered EYES LEFT. Every female head swiveled in my direction. Sixty-one pairs of eyeballs! Fortunately, my hands were adequate for the task required of them, but not before I heard a number of giggles, and one or two loud guffaws as, thankfully, they marched out of sight. As they say, lesson learned.