In the Navy - Getting to Boot Camp - 1976

No one ever forgets the exact date of their enlistment in the Armed Forces. It is a day which marks a turning point in your life. No matter what you were doing before; or will do after; your time in the service will always be a line of demarcation in the saga of your life. I know that it was, and has been, that way for me.

So, in fond remembrance of the events of that long ago day, I am re-posting a chapter of my nascent memoir dealing with the day on which I left for boot camp at Great Lakes, Illinois. I first posted this about 4 years ago with a different picture. That’s me shaving.

1976 was the 200th Birthday of the Declaration of Independence. The country had begun preparing for it in 1975 with special offers and special packaging of products. You couldn't escape it. I have often been asked if that is what lead to my joining the Navy in September of 1976. The answer is no.

My motivation for joining the service was simple. I wanted to get out of Brooklyn for good. I wanted to be away from all the drugs and also my parents. Although I had not seen them often during the last 4 years I felt as if they were a threatening presence, always lurking in the background, waiting for me to “see the light.”

In August of 1976 I went to the Recruiting Office located on Flatbush Avenue at the junction of Nostrand Avenue. I took some aptitude tests and then had to sit for an interview. The man interviewing me was black and I think was a Chief Petty Officer.

We started with some routine questions- “Do you do drugs?” was one of the first ones-I thought he was being sociable and so pulled out a baggie of weed and said, “Yeah, wanna smoke?” I thought he was going to pass out! He asked again and I countered with, “What drugs?” I was hustled outside and he explained that I had to answer “No” to the drug question. I said that I was not interested in lying to him. He produced a Drug Waiver which read “I have experimented with marijuana about 3 or 4 times and found it not to my liking. I have no interest in taking drugs.” I signed it and then got my contract for 4 years Active Duty. At the completion of Boot Camp in Great Lakes, Illinois I would be allowed to choose from 70 different schools. I chose “OJT” which is short for On the Job Training in the fleet. So I chose no school, electing to go straight to the fleet and have a look about me before choosing anything. I have never regretted that choice.

Around this time Iona Derman came by H and A to say goodbye. She had graduated 6 months early from Madison in 1972 and I believe started Brooklyn College. She was now transferring to another school somewhere. She came by in a little green Datsun B-210 and I felt that I was seeing a good friend for the last time. It would be another 31 years until we would be in contact again.

 I informed Harry and Al of my decision, which they tried in earnest to talk me out of. But when a person decides to join the service there is virtually no chance of talking them out of it. Usually it is a move made of long planning or else in desperation. Mine was a bit of both.

I had been fascinated by my Dads time in the Navy and had also long dreamt of joining the Merchant Marine- civilians who transport goods by ship. I needed to be in a Union to work as a Merchant and to be in the Union you had to work on the ships you couldn’t work on unless you were in the Union. So you see it was a conundrum. Realizing that my best shot at getting in the Union would be as a Veteran with sea time under my belt I elected to join the Navy. Also I really needed to break the cycle in which I was living.

So, on a balmy September morning, after a raucous night of debauchery I set off to Fort Hamilton and the Armed Forces Induction Station. I was several hours late and my Recruiter was actually riding through the streets of my neighborhood looking for me. He drove me to Ft. Hamilton where I went to sleep on the long bench waiting to be processed.

I was awoken with a kick from an Air Force Sergeant bellowing, “Get up slimeball- your sleeping days are done!” I rose slowly, looked at his uniform and said, “Fuck you- I’m Navy.” And went back to sleep. A few minutes passed and I was again awoken in the same barbaric manner- this time by a Navy Chief Petty Officer. “Get up fuckhead! You’re in the Navy now! And your ass is mine!” Standing up and looking him right in the eye I said- “This is still Brooklyn and I ain't took the oath yet so my ass is my own!” He was pissed but walked away and I went back to sleep for another hour.

I awoke and began to survey my surroundings and think about what I was actually doing. Before I could think too much I was sworn in with about 50 people and divided into groups. One group was going to Great Lakes and the other to Florida where a new boot camp had just opened. That one had women as well as men. But I was slated for Great Lakes along with a Puerto Rican guy named Orlando Cruz. So I kind of kept an eye on him figuring that if I stayed close to him I wouldn't have to listen much and still get where I was going.

A little while later we were at JFK and I was wondering what had happened to change our travel from rail to air. I had been looking forward to the 24 hour train ride to Chicago and having one of those sleeper rooms on the train. That’s when I realized that Orlando was where the other boot camp was. Orlando Cruz heard “If you are going to Orlando then line up here.” He had only heard his name “Orlando- here” and lined up with me following him.

What happened next was the fastest car ride I have ever had- from JFK to Grand Central in like 20 minutes in the middle of a weekday. I am sure it was a record.

Boarding the train is still a bit fuzzy but once we were on the way everything is crystal clear. They should never put recruits on a train with decent people. It sullies the image of the Armed Forces. We spent the next 24 hours headed to Chicago from New York by way of Connecticut, picking up more recruits in every town. In between stops we made unwanted advances to every woman on board, smoked pot, drank to excess and had food fights. Going through the late summer/early fall cornfields of Indiana we tossed flaming stacks of the New York Times into the fields. We were uncontrollable and crazed.

We arrived in Chicago the next afternoon about 4 PM. From there we had to catch a commuter train to Great Lakes- about 30 miles or so. Again, we should not have been allowed to mix with normal people.

Arriving at the gates to Great Lakes was everything you have seen in the movies. People scream at you, call you foul names right in your face, spit flying in your eyes. This would be home for the next several months, and it was only the beginning...

The story is continued here:

  http://robertwilliamsofbrooklyn.blogspot.com/2009/09/its-only-me-chapter-15-learning-ropes.html

Miracle on Kings Highway - Angelo's Story

I first posted this Christmas piece 3 years ago. The events which took place in my life while working at H and A Foods on Kings Highway in Brooklyn all took place at a time in my life when I was very fortunate to be working for 2 people; Harry and Al; who were willing to put people first in their hearts and deeds. While complete opposites on most things, they were in unison when it came to helping people to help themselves. I have never worked for 2 more colorful, and generous, human beings. And there is never a Christmas which passes by that I don’t think about them and tell this story. It speaks to the humanity within us all.

This is a story of the Christmas Spirit. Every word is true – I know - I was there. These events happened 35 years ago this evening (1974) and still warm my soul each time I relive them. It is what Christmas is all about.

The neighborhood of Kings Highway in Brooklyn was a world of its own. We had the same assortment of shops, delicatessens and candy stores as all the other main shopping avenues, only bigger. H and A Foods, as it was known, catered to the upper crust of the neighborhood. We delivered; which none of the big chains did; and that’s where our story begins…

Angelo was the youngest brother of Milton, who, along with his brother Leo worked for Harry and Al. Milton delivered the groceries in a station wagon bought for him by Harry and Al every 2 years. It was in his name and Harry and Al paid all expenses on it. Milton delivered the groceries and as the store grew he brought his 2 brothers over to help. Leo was the floor manager and Angelo was a “stocker”. Of the 3 brothers’ only Angelo still had family behind in Mexico - a wife and 5 children. His dream was to save enough money to bring them here.

Angelo could ape a few words of English and taught me several foul words and phrases in Spanish. He was a hard worker- about 40 years old. He sent his pay home and lived in a furnished room around the corner from the store. He never got to go home and visit his family while saving to bring them here. He was an illegal and this was 1974. They still upheld the immigration laws back then so it was a risky business sneaking in and out.

First a few words are in order concerning Harry and Al. They were partners; 2 Jews perfectly mismatched. While Harry was short, Al was tall. Harry was an optimist, Al was a pessimist. Harry was a doer, Al was a dreamer. You get the point. Anyway, they operated on a system of checks and balances, not unlike our government. They had been in business for 20 years as partners after having failed on their own. It was only after they got together that they achieved any success.

There had been a slight recession in 1973 going into 1974. The Vietnam War had just wound down and Watergate was about to give us our first unelected President in Jerry Ford. There had been talk of some cutback in hours or possibly some layoffs in the store during the fall months leading up to the holidays. Harry had been in and out at all odd hours compared with his usual schedule, which was etched in stone like the Tablets on Sinai. We assumed he had been meeting with bankers to negotiate some financing.

The holidays approached and with them all the excitement that is generated by the prospect of the “Christmas Bonus.” This boiled down to two very basic questions- how much and when? The tradition at Harry and Al’s had always been a week’s gross pay in cash on Christmas Eve just before closing. We were all paid on the basis of 15 hours per week on the books at minimum wage ($2.50 an hour) and then the balance of our pay was in cash at a higher rate. This ensured that we made enough cash to live on and also that our Social Security Accounts would not be bare. It also helped when the Labor Dept. Inspector dropped in to make sure we were all on the books.

Christmas Eve finally arrived and we rushed through all the last minute tasks before closing early for the holiday. Harry and Al were still busy counting the days receipts as the rest of us pretended to work, waiting for the “moment”.

Al and Harry stood behind the counter and we were all gathered on the customer side exchanging best wishes etc as Harry handed out the envelopes with our bonus. There was one for Milton, Izzie, Leo, Steve, Bob, Paul and myself. Angelo’s name was not called.

Meekly coming forward with hand outstretched Angelo spoke; “Me, dinero?” he implored, eyes showing the shame of asking. He was here illegally and there was no guarantee of a bonus for anyone, let alone this poor fellow. He continued, “Me mucho trabajo- no dinero?” Al held his hand up, arm outstretched, palm facing Angelo and said, “You no work bueno- you no dinero.” And then he turned away. The silence, as they say, was deafening. Angelo turned and ran to the basement to be alone with his disappointment and probably anger.

Suddenly from the basement we heard the sounds of laughter and tears. Seeing Harry and Al as they exchanged satisfied glances we knew things were not as they appeared to be. Milton and Leo seemed unusually calm as the rest of us herded toward the basement steps to investigate the cacophony of sounds.

There was Angelo, surrounded by his wife and five children, tears streaming down their faces as they embraced the greatest Christmas gift imaginable- one another.

And then we realized, Harry hadn’t been going to the bankers as we all thought. He had been going to Immigration arranging the visas and job commitment necessary to re-unite Angelo with his family.

There was not a dry eye as we left the store that night. We filed out under the caring gaze of 2 of the wisest men I have ever known - and I believe we had seen the true Spirit of Christmas.