Chapter 3: Reception Station

Our days at the reception station processing in, were very long. So much had to be crammed into the few days given to get us ready for basic training. Each morning we were rudely awakened at the crack of dawn by the banging on a metal garbage pail lid and the yelling of evil beings that obviously enjoyed it. I forget what time lights out was, but it never came soon enough for me.

The mess hall was a place we would all soon grow to love. It didn't matter if we were eating a meal, or doing KP, we still enjoyed the break from the rigors of army life.


Each day held another surprise, like on the first day when we received our haircuts. You could see the glee in the barbers eyes when ever a hippie type with his long hair sat down in his chair.

The haircuts were nothing fancy, they just cut it all off until we were practically bald. My mom always cut my hair growing up and usually cut it just like the army barber did. I always hated the way they made my ears look getting haircuts like that. Just look how much they stood out.

Next we were issued our uniforms to make us look like soldiers. We were outfitted from head to toe with army issue. That left no need for our civilian clothes, so the next morning we had to pack all of our civilian possessions into a box to be shipped home.

Of course there were the usual aptitude test and IQ test too, but I don't get why we were tested to see if we could get the hang trying to decipher Morse code. I'll never get that one.

The days in the reception station were long, but the nights were even longer. The strange sounds of a new place and sometimes even the muffled sounds of someone crying due to home sickness. Night were also the time we spent trying to comprehend what was happening to us. Most of us were just 19 years old and this may have even been the first time some of us had been away from home without our parents or scout masters to take care of us. Just a day or two earlier, we were all as 'snug as a bug' in our beds at home, or out partying until the crack of dawn. Now we were is some God forsaken place and the property of Uncle Sam's US Army. To call it a culture shock is an under statement.

Each night in the reception station a few of us had our sleep interrupted to take our turn on “fire watch” for a couple of hours. Our orders were to walk around outside our barracks and if there was a fire, to sound the alert. Of course there were never any fires, “fire watch” was just one of the senseless things we did while in training at Fort Jackson. After a while, we all learned that what seemed senseless at the time always had a purpose.