Basic Training
That right of passage for every military member. Though it happened, dare I say 25 years ago. I remember it like it was yesterday.
A young naive kid from Northern Maine where the high temperatures rarely surpassed 75 degrees on any summer day. I suddenly found myself in the blistering heat of San Antonio, Texas at near midnight.
Myself, along with two others from New England, had just arrived at Basic Military Training (BMT) at Lackland AFB. Called by name from a group of 60 or so, I vividly remember the bolstering voice of Sgt Teddy Ayon. He was the stereotypical BMT Instructor. Smoky Bear hat, tree trunk biceps, perfectly manicured uniform, and a commanding voice who's utterance invoked immediate terror. "Powers, Heinze, Cruz" he bellowed. And, in unison, the three of us peeled away and followed this ominous figure into the dormitory and up three flights of stairs where Sgt Ayon proceeded to bellow commands at the dormitory guard for entrance to the squad bay. Yup, this was the point of the night where the three of us pimple faced young men wondered "what have we gotten ourselves into."
The rest of our BMT Flight had trickled in throughout the weekend, ahead of our Monday morning start. The dormitory was dark with only the light from the dorm guard desk emanating. Sgt Ayon ushered us, unceremoniously and loudly, into the dayroom where he proceeded to give us a very hurried briefing and instructions for the three of us "wannabe Airman" to "shit, shower, and shave and get to bed!" And, by the way, our doting instructor commanded that we use a single latrine, sink and shower in the process.
Without much fanfare, we immediately proceeded to find a bed not occupied and scurry to get prepared for bed. To this day, I am not sure what prompted me to shave, when I presented without so much as a whisker on my chin. But the bellowing instruction to "shit, shower, and shave" echoed in my head. If a towering 6'1" instructor says to "shave", I'll shave. So, lacking finesse or skill of "how" to shave, I proceeded to run this new Bic up and down and across my face. The only thing I accomplished was mowing down the few pimples that existed on my chin. I then hurried into the shower.
The last from the shower, I wrapped myself in a towel that barely fit around my lanky body, donned my .99 cent shower shoes, and squished my way as quietly as I could down the center aisle of the bay towards my bunk, which was the last on the left hand side. About halfway down this maze of sleeping peers, from the darkness, was a thundering voice screaming, "AIRMAN.....AIRMAN!!!! WHY ARE YOU WALKING IN THE CENTER OF MY DORMITORY??? GET OVER HERE!" Without a doubt, I knew it was me he was addressing and I turned and in wet shower shoes, squished and squashed as quickly as I could through the bay to stand in front of this ominous figure who was surely upset about something! Needless to say, anyone who WAS sleeping was now awake and surely watching the interaction taking place.
There I stood, a meek lanky boy in front of this towering perfectly groomed poster representative Instructor. Sgt Ayon proceeded to give me the highlights that the "center aisle was only to be walked on by the Instructors and that trainees are to walk on the outskirts of the bay." (....oddly, I don't recall him telling us that in our mini briefing just a few moments ago....) Have you ever heard that trouble breeds trouble? Well, I was clearly in the crosshairs of this ominous figurehead who was clearly upset that his pristinely waxed floor was no adorned with my wet footprints. Sgt Ayon, who's nose nearly touched mine as he yelled at me began to also question why I had not wiped down the shower walls, as I was the last one from the shower. Within 15 minutes of arrival, I was now at the receiving end of TWO infractions.
The more Sgt Ayon yelled, in an attempt to establish some moniker of hierarchy and make a point, the more I shook with unbeknownst fear. I stood at the best most erect posture I could muster, all the while shaking. I could feel the wet water dripping from my face, tinged with blood from the acne shave that I'd just performed a few moments ago. Somewhere in mid sentence of yelling, the shaking took a turn and I felt the G.I. issued towel becoming more and more loose from my body. I dared not to move to adjust. In mid-sentence of fury, while Sgt Ayon made a point, "phwooooomp" and down went the towel and there before him was a shaking, skinny, lanky kid, naked as the day he was brought into this world, soaking wet with blood dripping from his chin.
For a brief moment the masterful instructor showed his human side (they are human, right?) and he chuckled. Clearly finding the humor in the event. After all, how could you continue to scream and shout at this naked being in front of you??? He commanded me to pick up my towel and carry myself to bed.
So that was my introduction to Air Force BMT. I never made the same two mistakes again, shaving or walking down the center aisle. And I luckily stayed out of the cross hairs of this bolstering figurehead the remainder of training. I've often wondered how the story was told from his perspective in the Drill Instructor day room with his peers, describing this lanky kid who was bleeding like a slaughtered pig and was "shook from his towel with fear."
