When I joined the Navy, I was 19. It was peacetime, and boot camp was 14 weeks long at Naval Station Great Lakes near Chicago. About three-quarters of the way through the process, our drill instructor (DI) called us all together and informed us that our country, as part of a United Nations effort, was at war with North Korea. We stood there in stunned silence, our mouths wide open, not knowing how to react. Finally, a guy in the back shouted the question we all wanted answered, “Where’s Korea?” Our DI was a first-class boson’s mate, a man of few words, who yelled back “The Pacific!”
From that day on the mood of everyone in our Company changed. We were a bunch of kids. We joined the Navy to “see the world.” Nobody had said anything about going to war. Frankly, I was scared, and so was everyone else.
We soon graduated, got our assignments, and said our goodbyes. I boarded a bus with others that would take us to the LaSalle Street train station in Chicago. When we got there, we got off the bus, lined up, put our overstuffed sea bags on our shoulders and marched into the packed train station. When we got inside, we were surprised. Everyone was clapping and cheering. As we moved toward our train, people were shouting “Give ’em hell, boys!” “God bless you! and “You’re the cream of the crop!” They patted our backs, and some motherly-looking women blew us kisses.
We appreciated the attention, but we were too embarrassed to tell anyone we were just going to Pensacola, Fla. for the winter.