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The Good Old Days
May 20, 2011 |
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A friend was talking about his Army DI, which, as
usual, reminded me of a story. This guy sounded
suspiciously like Bryce G. Kinnemon, Jr. Old Bryce
was a little sucker, but he made up in sheer
cussedness for what he lacked in size. Back in those
days, Air Force Basic Training was pretty much like
the Army's, and the instructors thought nothing of
just hauling off and punching your lights out if
they deemed that a necessary aid in furthering your
military ”education.” Everybody dreaded the summons
to the drill instructor's room – we called them
Tactical Instructors (TIs) – especially when he had
two of his buddies in there with him.
My
first sight of Kinnemon was at 0 Dark Thirty on the
second day of Basic Training. He was standing
outside the barracks as we fell out, shaking his
head sorrowfully while looking at a stopwatch and
murmuring, “Too slow, wa-ay too slow.” That didn't
strike me as being an especially sanguine omen since
the assistant TI had just flushed us from the
barracks like a covey of frightened quail. Something
in the back of my head went, “Oh-oh, you really did
it this time, Chuckles!” My three month sojourn with
Basic Training Flight 4405, Sampson AFB, NY, had
begun in earnest.
One of my little run-ins
with old Bryce G. occurred during a barracks
inspection when he had the Commander and 1st
Sergeant in tow. As they stood sternly eyeing me,
the idiot directly across from me started making
faces, causing me to smile slightly. Kinnemon, vein
throbbing in his forehead, immediately demanded to
know what I was smirking about. I, of course, gave
the standard “Nothing, Sir!” reply as I stared over
his head. “Then, why are you smiling?” “I'm not
smiling, Sir!” “Look me in the eye when I talk to
you!”
Now, as it happens, old Bryce had a
trick eye that tended to wander when he got a little
wound up, and when I lowered my gaze to his, that
one orb was sort of tracking off on its own. It had
to be the Devil who made me do it: “Which eye, Sir?”
I inquired innocently, causing both the captain and
sergeant to suddenly seem to experience difficulty
breathing.
Believe it or not, it turned out
that Kinnemon had a sense of humor. After the
inspection, instead of inviting me to his room for
some extra intensive indoctrination in military
courtesy, he told me to go out and find a rock about
the size of both my doubled fists. I did so with
some trepidation, figuring he was probably going to
stone me to death with it. Instead, he told me that
he wanted it worn down to a quarter inch thickness,
and added something about Smart-asses and Dumb
Rocks. Or, maybe it was dumb-asses and rock heads.
Anyway, every night after supper, I found myself
in the latrine, scrubbing that rock across the
cement floor and slowly wearing it down. After three
weeks, he relented and told me to throw the rock
away. I'd worn it down quite a bit, though, and
developed some pretty sturdy arm muscles in the
process.
Then there was the time I got caught
calling cadence for another flight of trainees who
marched by us as we stood at “Rest” beside the road.
I didn't see the second drill instructor down in the
culvert. Now that I think of it, Kinnemon must have
said “dumb-asses and rock heads.” |
 By
Thurman P. Woodfork
Copyright 2000
About
Author...
Thurman P. Woodfork (Woody) spent his
Air Force career as a radar repairman in places as disparate as
Biloxi, Mississippi; Cut Bank, Montana; Tin City, Alaska; Rosas,
Spain and Tay Ninh, Vietnam. In Vietnam, he was assigned to
Detachment 7 of the 619th Tactical Control Squadron, a Forward Air
Command Post located on Trai Trang Sup. Trang Sup was an Army
Special Forces camp situated about fifty miles northwest of Saigon
in Tay Ninh province, close to the Cambodian border.
After Vietnam, Woody remained in the Air Force for nine more years.
Visit
Thurman P. Woodfork's site for more information |
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