Harmony Church Fort Benning B-9-2 1984

I guess I've been thinking a lot about the Army now that my son is just weeks away from going off to West Point. He'll have a cadet basic training, a seven week period of intense Hades, I'm sure. At least they get to spend some time in the barracks. I don't know what all else they do... the Beast stuff... I still don't understand it all.

I was telling him about the barracks I did basic training at in Fort Benning, Georgia. They are gone now, finally giving way to the wreckers as they prepare Harmony Church for the Armored center. What's up with all this Maneuver Center stuff combining Armor and Infantry at Fort Benning anyway?

Harmony Church in 1984 sucked. I was 17, didn't know a thing about what was going on. I remember the reception station, the shots... my brother was on Reserve Duty when I showed up and he came to see how I was doing. That was before I got sent out to the unit. I was in B-9-2, the "Bravo Rangers." My platoon got there early for some reason so we spent about two weeks painting everything. Finally the rest of the company showed up and it began.

I was oblivious to what was happening. I think back on it, and I realize that I was in a fog. I didn't have any vision for my life. I had no purpose. I was there because of my mother and I had nothing to look forward to. There's so much I remember about that time though... I remember the overhead ladder that was mandatory to get into the chow hall. I remember being on KP once and passing out the "end of the loaf" and refusing to trade it for a regular piece when a trainee complained. I was standing in the chow line one time and I saw Sergeant Flowers. He looked different than most of the drill sergeants and I was staring at him as he was sitting at a table. I remember he said "Who are you looking at?" and I looked away. Sergeant Williams was the other drill sergeant for my company. He hated me. He called me names, he called me fat, he classed me in with Private Hall... I was the second most despised person in my platoon. It was hell. I was weak (I couldn't do pushups and the overhead ladder was always a challenge. sometimes I couldn't do it, other times I could, but I'd have to bring my trailing hand forward before moving to the next rung. I never could walk my hands through it.

The barracks were from WWII and they showed it. The toilets were separate from a shower room that were off to the right of the stairs. We never could get the floors shiny enough and we got kicked out of the barracks for not keeping it clean enough. We camped behind company headquarters from half of training. We had to have fire guards in the "camp" and fireguards in the barracks. We had round the clock cleaning teams... oh, it was bad.

The toilets had no stalls. I mean it. There were about six crappers out in the middle of a square room. I think the room may have had some washers and dryers in it too. Yes, I think so. Everyone sat on the toilets with their pants down and their hands screening their genital area. How horrible.

I was looking for photos of Harmony Church that I had found online years ago... I couldn't find them. There is a Harmony Church Facebook page that has some photos that sample the feel of what it was like back then.

Like every other time of my life, I had no friends. I had only a couple casual acquaintances that sometimes I could hang with, but I made no lasting friends and no one really liked me. In fact, I was mocked when I couldn't finish the runs, and I was ridiculed for the way I looked. I didn't know how to relate, and I had no perspective on life.

I remember too, the blisters I got on my feet because my boots were too big. It was horrible.

Zero the Rifle

Fort Benning, Georgia was a horrible place that I came to love. After failing to physically prepare for the ordeal that laid before me, I was in for a horrendous shock upon arrival. OK, not upon arrival at Fort Benning... arrival at Bravo Company, 9th Battalion, 2nd ITB (B-9-2). We were the "Rangers." Of course we weren't really Rangers: we were called the Rangers.

After a relaxed time at the reception station where I got shots and some basic in-processing done (My brother actually stopped by during that time because he was there for annual training with the 1st Brigade, 323rd regiment, 108th Division Army Reserve unit, the same unit that I was assigned to). That is so long ago, I can't recall exactly what my reserve unit was, but I think I have that about right. The unit was on Laurens Road in Greenville, South Carolina, but seems to be gone now. In fact, the entire reserve center seems to be abandoned. Let's get back to my story.

When we were live-firing our weapons, we were taken to a shooting range where we were supposed to get our weapons zeroed. Of course, I had never even touched a rifle before (except the ceremonial type at JROTC) and had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I remember they had these little site picture training aids, but that didn't help because I used them incorrectly. When it came to be my turn, I lowered myself into a foxhole to begin the process. On a wooden bench, equipped with binoculars was a West Point cadet who was assigned to our company. I'd fire a few shots and he would tell me "turn your front site X numbers counterclockwise." I'd do that, fire again, and he'd tell me to adjust some more. By now, you could probably guess that things were not going to end well on this day.

The cadet kept telling me to rotate the site, blah, blah, blah. It was getting late. For some reason I was having trouble getting my weapon zeroed. Finally, A drill sergeant from my platoon by the name of Williams came by. The cadet got his attention and indicated there was a problem. The sergeant had me fire a few rounds, the cadet told me to rotate the sight post, and the whole thing came off the gun, apparently from turning it too much). The drill sergeant got angry and said, "Private XXXX, get out of that foxhole!" I did, and suffice it to say, I never got my weapon zeroed.

The problem was that I didn't understand the concept of a proper site picture. Rather than aiming at the center of the "o", I was aligning the site post with the top of the "o". This was on an M16A1 rifle. I never had another opportunity to zero so I had to learn what the site picture looked for my rifle by trial and error. I did well too: I qualified as sharpshooter.

Learn about My High School Graduation

What Graduation?

My high school graduation sucked, primarily because I was not there. The day of graduation I was shipping out to Fort Benning, Georgia via Newark, New Jersey. That was all right because my schooling largely amounted to pain. The pain I speak of is emotional pain. The pain that made me wish I were dead on more than one occasion.

A History of Rejection

Toddlers Workshop

There is something about me that caused me to be different. I remember I was pre-preschool age when my mother put me in some sort of classes at the YWCA downtown. The play area was set below street level and I remember one day looking up and seeing her watching me, right after I was bullied off the slide.

Nursery School

Later she put me in this nursery school at a church in Highland Park. I only remember two things about that: once we made these cool colored flowers. They were composed of a wire frame and then dipped in some sort of plastic that stretched across the frame. Mine had different colors and I liked it for years after I had made it. Another time, we drew leaves. Mine was different than everyone else's because my leaf had a smiling face on it. In short, I don't recall much of a problem in nursery school, but I was only three (I suppose).

Kindergarten

Kindergarten was at the same church but in a different section. I remember nap time. I also remember the teacher who, while teaching time would say, "Two thirty. My tank is thirty." That always puzzled me because I didn't think it made sense. I still don't think it made sense. That poor pathetic teacher probably ruined the lives of thousands of children throughout her ignorance-fueled career. The other kids didn't like me in kindergarten. I remember being laughed at, and one child tripped me, sending my head into the side of an opened door, punching a hole in my forehead. I didn't have any friends.

Still Rejected

That trend continues until this day. I have no friends. I desperately want a friend, but there is some sort of problem. I don't know what it is either. We started going to church again a couple years ago, and I fully intended to make some friends, but the story is the same: no one like me. No one cares about me. I feel like if I had just one friend, my life would be so much better.

Right now I'm not going to finish going through all my experiences at school. Suffice it to say that at graduation time I had no friends. The only thing I ever liked was the Jr. ROTC, and my future sucked because I had caved in to my mother's demands that I go to Bob Jones University. I had nothing to look forward to. The recruiter picked me up at the house in the morning and took me to Newark. My parents could have taken me there, but they didn't. The only extent to which my mother cared was that I was headed to Bob Jones University where my life would be further scarred and ruined.