On 11 August 1961 my mother, at her request, drove me down to the U S Army recruiting office in Spokane, Washington and we said our goodbyes.
It was not long before I was on my way to Fort Ord California for my basic training, I think we traveled by bus, but am not sure. What an awaking this was going to be for all of us naive young men. The majority of us had never been away from home before without our parents, and here we were in a strange environment with hundreds of other young men. Young men from all walks of life, with different educations, different races, and totally different beliefs about the world we lived in. I did manage to make one or two friends while there, but their names now escape me. I suppose if I went through my old army album I could figure it out, but it, along with my high-school year books are in the hands of my niece and nephew. The hardest parts for me were the field maneuvers and rifle firing.
When the Company went out for its first overnight maneuvers, I, and one or two other guys stayed behind to do clean up at the barracks. I was assigned the job of painting the front stairs. I was just finishing when I saw these boots go running up my freshly painted stairs. I yelled, “That’s wet paint you idiot!” or something like that and looked up into the eyes of an officer. Oops! I jumped to attention; he walked back down the stairs, apologized and went on his way. It was dark when we got to the camp so I was unable to locate my duffel bag, but my buddy had at least put up our tent and my sleeping bag. I still had not found the bag by assembly so got chewed out for not shaving, like it was my fault. I found my bag after assembly and hauled it up the hill to our tent. We were then told to tear down the tents, we did, we then had to put them back up again as we were not moving out. Next day same thing, I lost it at that point and was ready to shoot the Sergeant.
When we did our rifle training I was not hitting the camouflaged pop up targets. The sergeant asked me if I was not seeing them. I was not; he had to tell me where they were, and then I would shoot at them. I could not see them because I am partially red green colorblind and I just could not see the camouflage targets. He knew my MOS. so to him it was no big deal, as I was not slated for combat duty. I was writing home on a regular basis, actually it was required, but I would have done it anyway, especially to my Grandmother Edwina Marie (De Mers) Gosselin. As long as I can remember we wrote letters to each other. I always enjoyed hearing from her. One time, just before payday, I tried sending a letter home to mom without a stamp on it. I put a note on it that they would pay the postage on the other end. Did not work. It came back. I had to borrow a stamp from someone. It is hard now for me to even fathom not having enough money to buy a stamp.
1961 Fort Ord California
Boot Camp Photo
On October 26, 1961, our basic training was over and we were sent home on leave. I think two weeks. I took the Greyhound bus home. It was a long trip through Northern California, across Oregon and finally to Spokane. I remember wearing my uniform to church one Sunday, everyone was so proud of their little soldier. I also went out on one or two dates with old girl friends including Kathleen Herron. There are pictures of me with one or two of them in my uniform also if I locate them I shall add them.
One evening, it actually may have been the same night I returned from basic training, I had borrowed the Chevrolet and was out with friends. I recall driving home at night, I was extremely tired and was driving up Rockwood Boulevard, which is a very curvy road. I dozed off and missed a curve. I hit something with the right rear corner of the car. I was sure I took at a street sign. I remember driving back to look but it was so dark I could not see anything so drove home. The next morning I had to tell dad about it as there were some minor scratches to the car. When we drove by on our way to church on Sunday there was no sign of the sign post. I never heard any more about it from dad or anyone else.
The above incident caused me to recall the reason we no longer had the Dodge. In the summer of 1960, Vondalee, Virginia Romaine, Frank Bennett, and I think Kathleen Herron and I (the driver) drove out to Diamond Lake in the 52 Dodge for a day of swimming. We had a lot of fun and at one point we all decided to dive or jump off of the 10 foot high wooden diving platform. When it was my turn, my beautiful dive (I never really learned to dive off a high dive) turned into a fantastic belly flop. Damn that hurt. On the way home, the Dodge started making this horrible racket. I finally pulled into a service station at the “Y” where N Division (Hwy 395) and the Newport Hwy (2) meet. The attendant told me that it sounded like we had thrown a rod and that the car should not be driven any further, or could not. I knew my parents were not at home so we called Virginia’s father and he drove out to pick us up. Later I went out with dad and we towed it to a mechanic’s garage where he later found out that the car was toast. He would have liked to have blamed me for the damage but he could not as the mechanic made it clear that it was caused by long-term improper maintenance. Dad then purchased a used 4 door Chevrolet.
kauaikeoki 