I experienced one of those strange, welcoming kind of surprises this week. The kind that makes you forget your routine life for a few hours and places a goofy smile on your face as your mind revisits it, for days following. One of my “buddies” from my basic training flight called, out of the blue, and we spent a couple of hours on the phone catching up with one another’s lives and reminiscing about those six weeks we spent together in San Antonio, 20 years ago. I couldn’t believe it when she said it out loud but it has been 20 years and she and I still have so much in common, it’s uncanny.

With the preparation for the Annual American Legion Chicken Barbecue along with the Legion membership renewal season starting up again; I realized that all 146 of our members and every veteran has gone through this similar right of passage. We all, at some point in our young lives, decided to leave our families and Nebraska and travel alone to a Military Training Base in South Carolina, Missouri, or some other Southern state, on the shores of Lake Michigan, or San Antonio, Texas as in my case, in order to begin our chosen service as members of the United States Military.

My personal memory usually brings back that feeling of butterflies in my stomach when I think of that early morning trip, with my folks, to Eppley Air Field. I signed with a delayed enlistment so I anticipated the beginning of the journey for about 6 months before it was my time to actually depart. I remember some of the the advice I received from my Dad and my Uncle Leonard: “Always do what the man in charge tells you to do”; and then, “Work hard and keep your mouth shut.” The other one, doesn’t sound noble nor profound but I applied it often during my entire course of military service and it seemed to work well for me: “Never volunteer for anything.” We live in this society where advice like that might be frowned upon but I can tell you; my TI (Training Instructor) was the type that frowned upon sucking up so I made fast practice of those pearls of wisdom and they served me well. It helped that I was always the shortest in any flight I marched with, which meant I was the farthest back and the farthest to the left, (dress, right, dress…remember?). The important people, those in charge, marched at the front and to the right, which was fine by me.

I was 19; I had moved out and was living in Lincoln for a couple of years on my own, so it wasn’t the first time I had left home but it was my first time on an airplane or in an airport for that matter. The flight was full of turbulence and at one point during the on-flight meal; we were practically thrown from our seats as the plane shook and jerked in the darkness. We all had some food and drink on the fronts of our shirts by the time we landed, so I arrived at the San Antonio Airport scared to death of what was to come, happy to be alive and smelling like chicken cordon blue.

Somehow we, soon-to-be “Airman Basics”, found one another in the terminal and were all herded onto a huge bus with “Texas” printed on the side. It was just like in the movies folks; they started screaming at us in the airport parking lot, right there in front of the rest of the travelers. I sat on that bus wondering what the H-E-double-toothpicks I had gotten myself into. I didn’t think a person could survive their heart racing for that amount of time but eventually the doors closed and the two guys in uniform settled down and it was quiet on the bus as we drove to our destiny through the hot, sticky, Texas night.

We arrived after midnight and they lined us up under this dimly-lit, carport-like structure. They shouted instructions that none of us would possibly be able to remember, our arms sore from carrying our bags for what seemed like miles of “marching”, and then we were pushed up the stairs to the open bay barracks which would be our home for the next 6 weeks. Again, just like in the movies: each “barrack” consisted of two rows of 20 beds, each bed with a locker at the head and the walkway separating the two rows at the foot. They told us to grab a cot and warned us that there better not be any noise after “lights out” or heads would roll. We barely started into the room when we were thrown into complete darkness so we each quickly claimed our territory and there was silence until we felt the TI leave the room and a door closed behind him. At that point the weeping started and I remembered thinking to myself; “Well it’s too late now honey…”  I came to a point a few nights later where I could block that particular sound, which was a good thing because it was something I would hear almost every night during my stay.  I shut my eyes and tried to get my heart to slow and within minutes, though it was actually a few hours later, we were startled awake by a baseball bat hitting the inside of a trash can, oh yeah and I’m sure there was a trumpet, playing reveille, in the background as well.

We had to use the bathroom, have our hair up above our collars, and be down in formation in 3 minutes or we’d pay later. I remember thinking; “Formation? I wonder what that is.” and “Thank God I chopped all my hair off.” Some of those girls had it down to their waist line and I didn’t envy them the task of messing around with that every morning on top of everything else; what were they thinking?

That was just the first few hours; the rest of the 6 weeks turned out to be 80% hurry up and wait, and 20% learning how to be logical from a military point of view, which is completely different than the normal person’s logic for sure. I learned a lot about myself in the military training atmosphere: I learned that I can tolerate almost anything for 6 weeks. I learned that a shower is a luxury and should always be regarded as one. Along those lines: I learned that if you all stink equally, it’s as if no one stinks, at least that’s what we told ourselves.  I learned that growing up in a house with 9 children, prepared me more than I could know because I was able to eat very quickly without losing my lunch, a skill that some trainees never did quite get the hang of. I learned that in the military, everything has a hidden purpose, nothing should be taken personally, and eventually someone will tell you why you are doing what you are doing….you just have to believe. I learned that I was stronger than I imagined I could be but that no amount of training can ever prepare you for the jobs you are assigned in the capacity of defending this country. On top of all of that: I learned that when you are placed in a situation of deprivation, lifelong friendships form quickly.

That’s why when I was handed the phone the other night and this oddly familiar woman’s voice on the other end cackled out: “Schmucknik! Is that you?” All of those memories came rushing back like Basic Training had happened last week and not 20 years ago. I recognized her voice immediately and I began a laugh that lasted for the next two hours. She reminded me of the fun we had together, getting through it with our constant banter and jokes under our breath. She and I clicked with our similar senses of humor, our knack for self-deprecation, and our ability to entertain the crowd. We were quite a pair: we both cut our curly hair short for our adventure; myself 4’11” and blonde and she 5’10” with darker locks. She and I landed the coveted jobs of Latrine Queens, and we were damn good at it, plus we got to take longer showers after the herd of 38 got through so we could clean it up for the night. I also learned that every situation in this life is what you make of it, and man did we have a blast cleaning those toilets.

Every year the largest grouping in a single place, of our 146 member Morse Bluff American Legion, gets together to pull off the best chicken bbq in the area. I don’t see most of these guys except when they are standing next to me, performing their regular jobs for those few hours in the heat of August. For those of us who are more involved with the month to month Legion activities, its always a mad rush to get this thing going but in the end, the few and the best people for the jobs show up and we work together like the well-oiled-military-machine that we are. We do our jobs, we get caught up with life events and we have a few laughs as we work. (A personal “OOH-RA” to the the Serving Line committee!!! Great job again Sunday!). That basic training recipe carries through each of our lives even decades later and always turns out, cooked to perfection, anyone who has attended our BBQ will attest to that.