Wipe that Smile Off Your Face

I had one more test before Hell Week was completed. The battery next to our barracks had invited the junior class from West Point Military Academy to a graduation dance. Those who had weekend passes apparently hitched a ride with a plane going to Tinker Air Force Base, which was near by.

Traditionally, the incoming class provides the outgoing battery a CQ so the entire unit can attend the party. Guess who got picked for the duty? Yours truly, of course.

It didn’t appear to be bad duty. All I had to do was man the battery clerk’s office from 8 p.m. to midnight. Since all the class members were at the dance, I did not have to be worried about being hazed. Not!

About 11 p.m. two Redbirds and two other uniformed men came to the office where I was seated. I, of course, stood immediately at attention. “Where are you from, Candidate?” asked one of them.

“Omaha, Nebraska, sir!” I answered.

That was not true. Of course, since I had been drafted from Ord in Valley County, Nebraska but I knew that response would require more explanation than I was prepared to give.

“Where is that in relation to San Francisco?” came the response.

It took a little time and I finally explained the location of Omaha to their satisfaction, but in the process broke a slight smile at something they said. That was a serious mistake.

“Wipe that smile off your face, Candidate. (Pause) Now throw it on the floor and step on it. (Pause) Is it dead?”

I knew if I answered no I would be required to continue stepping on it so I naturally answered, “Yes, Sir.”

“Well then play Taps for it, Candidate!”

After I mimicked an Army bugler badly, they let that issue alone and started on another.

“Do you know who I am?” said one of the men who was not a Redbird.

Other than his miniature captain’s bars, I did not recognize any of his insignia and didn’t have a clue as to his branch of service.

“Well, you surely know what USMA stands for, don’t you, Candidate?” said the one in the unfamiliar uniform.

“Marines, sir?” I asked tentatively.

That really did it. After informing me the gentlemen were from the United States Military Academy, each one of my visitors braced me for another 15 minutes.

By this time, I realized these guys had spent some time at the bar before coming to my duty station, so I wasn’t sure how far they might go. Shortly afterward, however, they stood me at ease and explained who they were and why they had come to Ft. Sill.

Apparently, the cadets and the OCS graduates got into an argument over who could chew an underclassman best, a West Point cadet or a Redbird. I was the sacrificial lamb. There was no resolution to their argument but and I would have given them a tie score. They were equally abusive. From that time forward, whenever I had to submit to a dressing down, I considered it mild compared to that evening when I was handled by the best.