Scumbag: The Education of an American Officer

By John R. Oreskovich

Ft. Benning and the Infantry School produced thousands of officers for the Vietnam War as it did in World War II and the Korean War. Scumbags, the Making of an American Officer recounts the experiences of John Oreskovich in Ft. Benning’s Infantry Officer Candidate School Class 4-72. This class, which graduated 12 July 1972, sent 126 commissioned officers into the United States Army. He would later return to Ft. Benning to go through Airborne School, after attending Air Defense Officer training at Ft. Bliss.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John R. Oreskovich
• Release date: Sep 4, 2017
• ISBN: 9780999319215

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Scumbag: The Education of an American Officer

SCUMBAG

The Education of an American Officer

COPYRIGHT © 2017

John R.  Oreskovich

All rights reserved.

Apart from fair dealing for the purposes of criticism or review, no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the prior permission of the author.

First Printing: 2017

ISBN: 978-0-993192-0-8

John R. Oreskovich

Portland, Oregon

www.johnroreskovich.com

Editor’s Note: All images used in this book are the property of the author.

PREFACE

I have thought about writing this book for years.  It has taken me years to relax and put these words on paper or more accurately in my computer.  This is the story of Infantry Officer Candidate School Class 4-72, which graduated on 12 July 1972, and the training I received at Ft. Bliss, Texas.  To this day, I have a love/hate relationship with OCS, but mostly the later for Ft. Bliss.  I hated the harassment at OCS and put up with the constant physical training.  This is a recollection of my adventures at Benning School for Boys, including OCS and Airborne School, which I loved, and my time in the west Texas desert.

INTRODUCTION

Scumbag is an account of my days as an officer candidate in Infantry Officer Candidate School Class 4-7 and Airborne School at Ft. Benning, Georgia.  Class 4-72 translates to 51st Company, 5th Student Battalion, the School Brigade.  In those days, it was known Infantry OCS.  Some of the experiences are as fresh in my memory as if they happened yesterday, while others have faded and are best forgotten.  Airborne School reminds me of the hard work and excellent training I went through, All the Way!

These are the impressions I retain after some forty years.  Some are more accurate than others; many of the memories have disappeared with the passage of time.  There was humor during the training, humor with an edge tinged with sarcasm that’s hard to convey, especially if it was at your or a friends’ expense, and this was the cute military humor found in Reader’s Digest.  There was a bite to it, one that at least metaphorically took a chunk out of its recipients.  This is what it was like for me in OCS.

It was the end of an era for OCS as the Vietnam War drew to a close and the need for officers, or cannon fodder, was ending.  Within a year of my graduation, Infantry OCS was gone.  It had metamorphosed into something different.  Class 4-72 was one of the last twenty-three-week Infantry Officer Candidate School classes.  At the completion of the course, we were newly minted lieutenants and branch qualified infantry officers. 

After my graduation, I recall there only two Infantry OCS classes enrolled after mine.  Except in exceptional circumstances, we rarely saw the other classes and never trained with them.  All OCS classes (including reserve officer’s OCS, a shorter version of regular Infantry OCS) were part of the 5th Student Battalion, then located near the Airborne School.  At the height of the war there were multiple battalions with dozens of companies, and thousands of candidates.

At one time, there were OCS classes at Ft. Knox, Kentucky (Armor OCS), Ft. Belvoir, Virginia (Engineer OCS), Ft. Sill, Oklahoma (Field Artillery OCS), Ft. Benning, Georgia (Infantry OCS), Aberdeen Proving Ground, Maryland (Ordinance OCS), Ft. Lee, Virginia (Quartermaster OCS), Ft. Gordon, Georgia (Signal Corps OCS), Ft. Eustis, Virginia (Transportation Corps OCS) and women’ OCS at Ft. McClellan, Alabama at the Women’s Army Corps Center and School.  One by one they closed, leaving Ft. Benning as the home of OCS.  During the Vietnam War Infantry OCS produced 7,000 officers a year from 5 battalions. 

The heyday of OCS was during the Second World War, when tens of thousands of officers were commissioned out of OCS.  These were the beloved 90-day wonders. The phrase 90-day wonder could be used pejoratively, as it was against me and the other OCS graduates at Ft. Bliss, Texas or Ft. Fumble as I call it. 

Men like Major Dick Winters of Band of Brothers fame was a 90-day wonder. The Army in World War II couldn’t have functioned without OCS.  The same was true during the Korean War and Vietnam Wars.  The Navy and Marines have their own OCS programs, and the Air Force has OTS, Officer Training School.

According to the OCS website, OCS was the brainchild of General George Marshall, Chief of Staff of the Army during the Second World War.  To quote the OCS website: "His [General Marshall’s] vision for this officer training was first put into action at Fort Benning, Georgia.  Brigadier General Asa L.  Singleton, Commandant of the Infantry School, established the plan for the modern Officer Candidate School for Infantry.  His plan went into effect in July 1941 as the Infantry, Field Artillery, and Coastal Artillery [today’s Air Defense Artillery] Officer Candidate Schools.  Other branches later followed with their own Officers Candidate Schools.  The first Infantry OCS class began with 204 candidates, and on September 27, 1941, graduated 171 second lieutenants."

This same article credits Omar Bradley with establishing the foundation for modern OCS.  Bradley emphasized rigorous training, strict discipline and efficient organization. Infantry OCS transferred to Ft. Riley, Kansas until it was discontinued in 1947.  It reopened in February 1951 at Ft. Benning, Georgia.  This new course increased the length of OCS from 17 to 22 weeks.  At the height of the Korean War OCS graduated 29 companies a week and produced 7,000 officers during the war.

In August 1953, the Department of the Army reduced the eight OCS programs to three, retaining Infantry, Artillery and Engineer OCS, and later added Female OCS.  When I enlisted, there were two OCSs left, Infantry and Artillery.  Today the only OCS is the branch immaterial course at Ft. Benning.

In 1973, six months after my graduation, Infantry OCS was gone.  Today, the Army has one OCS located at Ft. Benning.  It is a fourteen-week course open to men and women.  It’s called branch immaterial (I have a want to call it branch immoral because the graduates aren’t branch qualified).  After graduation, the new lieutenants go to their branch qualification course, Ft. Benning for infantry, Ft. Sill for artillery and other posts for their qualification course. 

Airborne School was three weeks of intense physical training, culminating in five parachute jumps.  I loved it then and today I have lost none of my affection for the training or the Black Hats who trained us.  It was an adventure for a young man. 

The Black Hats, the NCOs who trained us, were superb and ran a tight ship.  Their sense of humor still makes me chuckle, even when I was doing dozens of extra push-ups because of our good-natured disagreements.  That humor was amply displayed during our last training before we jumped, when we were lectured for what seemed hours on the things that could go wrong jumping out of an airplane.  They were kind enough to give us a weekend to think about before we jumped.

I am proud of my source of commission and my jump wings.  It was a challenge, physically and mentally, if not emotionally.  It was said in the Army that OCS was the easiest training to get in to, all one needed was a bachelor’s degree, or a combat tour in Vietnam for enlisted soldiers; but OCS was the hardest to graduate from.  The typical class, mine included, graduated less than 50 percent of those who started, a huge difference from the classes graduating during World War II.

Until I saw the movie, An Officer and a Gentleman in 1982, I had forgotten most of the frustrations and the anger I had for the program.  I won’t comment on the movie, I’m no critic (don’t tell my children).  I couldn’t sleep after seeing the movie.  It brought back the less enjoyable parts of the program, especially the harassment.  My reaction surprised me because I never had trouble falling asleep in OCS; I was always tired.

It took time, lots of it, to wash away the anger I felt towards OCS.  I learned a lot in OCS but felt while going through it, there was a better way.  For the first several weeks it was large doses of physical training and harassment.  They wanted to see if you could take it.  Many students quit because they had had enough or couldn’t take the physical pounding. 

We were being trained as American officers, not Soviet.  As it was, I grew up with enough harassment at home and didn’t need to put up with more gratuitous crap.  Regardless of what I felt, I found Ft. Benning did an excellent job preparing me to be an officer.  This is not a judgment on how easy we had it or the current classes have it.  Each generation passes its test, this was mine.

My biggest surprise came when I wrote about Ft. Bliss and the Army’s Air Defense School, at that time in El Paso, Texas.  It was a huge let down after Ft. Benning’s professionalism.  I had forgotten how we weren’t accepted by some because we didn’t speak Spanish.  The training, as well as the TACs and the Black Hats, were light years ahead of the trainers on Ft. Bliss. 

Still, there were good things, such as studying the latest air defense missiles in the arsenal.  I remember not knowing what to do when they gave me a slide rule and a book of logarithms, the training at Ft. Bliss could be challenging.  The desert grew on me like an old pair of shoes; after a time, this Oregonian learned to appreciate its beauty.

Recounting this history, I am reminded of how difficult the training was and it took me some time to come to grips with how we were treated.  Americans are instinctively against arbitrary, (if it was arbitrary, it wasn’t) discipline.  It was sometimes, I assure you.  I had trouble being screamed at, or being called a scumbag or worse for approximately six months, and later being called a fool at Ft. Bliss and being ignored there because I, an American officer, didn’t speak Spanish.  I thought I was in the United States.  This then is what I recall from those days.

CHAPTER ONE

The Lottery

My military adventure began when I came home to find my mother glued to her seat in front of the television.  Mesmerized, she sat watching the lottery announcement, concerned her boy might have to go in the army.  On national television, the lottery determined one’s position in the draft. Every day of the year was in the lottery; the order a birthday was drawn became that birthday holders draft number. 

When I arrived, they had only announced five or six days.  She shook her no answering my unasked question as I sat down.  I had barely settled on the couch when November 1, my birthday, was announced.  I had made the top twenty out of 365.  She looked at me and told my father who shrugged.  I was going into the military unless I flunked the physical, an unlikely possibility.  I wasn’t sure how or when because I had an education deferment. 

With my lottery number and excellent health, I would enter the military, perhaps the National Guard (friends, other jocks in college, offered to get me in to a National Guard postal unit in Hillsboro, Oregon.  I declined), or the regular Army, Navy or the Marines. 

After receiving my lottery number, I went to the Marines to see what they had to offer.  Young and stupid, or to use an Army expression: young, dumb and full of cum, I wanted to get my service requirements over with, do my duty and then finish school.  The Marine recruiter salivated at the prospect of having this big Polack (actually I’m Croatian) enlist for OCS. 

It was 1969 after my sophomore or early in my junior year of college.  The recruiter assured me he could get me into OCS with two years of college.  Hell, they would’ve taken a chimpanzee if he could sign his name.  I knew after graduation, if I graduated, I would be sent to the Republic of Vietnam as an infantry platoon leader.  I decided to wait two years and finish my degree, and didn’t take him up on his offer.

A cousin with 12 years in the Navy, Don Upton, arranged to fly me to Sand Point Naval Air Station in Seattle to see if I qualified to become a Navy pilot, or to make it sound more sexy,, a naval aviator.  I flew up in a four-engine Navy transport, the Navy equivalent of a DC-6.  When I arrived, I was given a BOQ room with a Filipino steward to care for my room.  I liked that.  On that trip, I learned the Navy was more class conscious than the Army or Marines.

For two days, I took a battery of tests to see if I was qualified.  I was surprised when I passed them, because they included a heavy dose of mathematics.  They were not

the see and spell test the Marines administered.  I was put in a cockpit to see if I fit.  I did, but barely, scrunching down to make sure.  Then I took my pre-flight physical; I passed with one exception: I needed glasses. 

The Navy told me I couldn’t be a pilot, but was qualified to be a NFO, Naval Flight Officer, (translation: backseat tag along, like Goose in Top Gun! Excuse me for that, I’m not a fan of little Tommy Cruise).  I decided if I was to fly, I wanted to be the pilot and not go along for kicks and giggles.  I turned down the opportunity to be a flight officer when it came through. 

When I got home, I told my father I enjoyed having a Filipino steward take care of my room.  He told me to forget about the steward, that I wasn’t Jesus Christ and wouldn’t get any of that shit at home, or words to that effect.  I do walk on water, but it’s damn cold when I do.

After I passed my draft physical I realized I would be classified IA.  So, after the physical I went to the Army recruiter in the Pioneer Courthouse in downtown Portland.  Before going to the recruiter, I had already decided that the National Guard wasn’t for me.  The term of service was six years (too long), and since I could read and write, I decided the Marines weren’t for me.  So, I went to the Army to see what it had to offer. 

The recruiter was delighted to see me, or anyone, especially with the number of anti-war demonstrations in Portland; he knew I had a low lottery number, because no else was coming in.  He arranged a battery of tests to see if I qualified for OCS.  Like the Marines, the Army would take anyone with a degree who wanted to join.  I took the tests; they were closer to the Marine’s see and spell test, than the Navy test.  I wasn’t surprised when I learned I qualified for Army OCS. 

The last thing I had to do before being accepted for OCS was go before a board of officers.  I think there were three, maybe there was only one, I don’t remember.  I wore a coat, tie and slacks.  I was beautifully turned out in a pink flowered dress shirt; it was the early 70s after all. 

I sat and answered their questions.  After they determined I wasn’t an idiot, they asked me the only question that mattered.  The officer in charge asked if I would go to Vietnam.  I said yes.  I would have gone, by the way.  After that it was a matter of waiting for the paperwork and my graduation from college. 

My father taught me an appreciation of the manly arts, athletics and the military.  He served in the South Pacific during World War II and his brother Steve in Italy.  My Uncle Steve, an infantryman was wounded twice, the second time at Anzio.  After he was wounded the second time, he was discharged from the Army and sent home, where he was killed working in the Portland shipyards. 

My father used to tell my brother and I bedtime stories about our ancestors fighting the Turk, just like his father and his father’s father before him, except my father’s stories were in English not Croatian.  The stories were about the Hajduks, Christian freedom fighters against the Turk.  What I’m saying is that toughness was inculcated in me from an early age.  Toughness, I was taught, was the most important thing for a man. 

I remember a football coach reamed me out during a game for missing a tackle.  Dad was right behind us when the coach gave me hell.  I turned to look at my dad after the coach was finished, he was laughing.  There was no sympathy from him.  That was the way it was in those days.  Times have changed.  In any case, I was more afraid of my father than any teacher or coach, and later any TAC officer. 

My father was the runt of his family and measured about 6’2’’.  My uncles, both from the old country, were bigger and boxed heavyweight.  They weren’t any good at it I guess, but they were big and tough, typical Ličani.  Don’t ask.  I was prepared for the Army by tradition and training.

A few days before I went in the Army, I was given a going away party.  I had friends there that I had played ball with and against from Little League through college.  There were about fifteen at the tavern when I got there.  The difference between us: none of them would go in the military.  Later, I learned two of them went into the National Guard; as I said no one went in the military. 

I was one out of thousands throughout the country going into the military.  I had a few sour grapes and resented my fate.  Within days I was gone and segregated from the rest of society.  This was demeaning to the men and women who served during the Vietnam War.  Those who didn’t serve, or know us, looked down on us.  I remember being called a baby killer in an interview from a man who couldn’t hold a candle to me.  I have friends who were spit on or worse. 

The young men who didn’t serve in the military hated the war (so did many of those who went), and didn’t respect those who served, although those who served had no choice.  Was it fair because someone had the wrong birthday, or didn’t go to college? Today the public treats servicemen and women with more respect and kindness probably because of the way we were treated back then. 

If you don’t like the military that’s your business, but don’t take it out on some poor kid, and most of them were and are poor.  Better, tell them they look good in uniform and thank them for serving their country.  The first time that happened to me, years after Vietnam, I almost fainted.

CHAPTER TWO

Welcome to the Army

On the way to the induction center, I sat in the back seat of the family car with my brothers.  My father drove and my mother sat next to him.  The atmosphere was quiet, which was unusual, (maybe strained is a better word).  I would fly to Basic Training and the United States Army that morning.

My youngest brother Jeff was 6, too young to understand what was happening.  My parents and brother Jim, who was also eligible for the draft, understood.  Dad was stoic as fathers were supposed to be.  I could tell he was upset, but he wouldn’t admit it. 

One of the kids in the neighborhood, Brian Winters, was killed in Vietnam.  My parents were friends with his parents.  My mother thought about what happened to him constantly when she learned I would go in the Army.  Although Gary Winters was the only one to my knowledge killed in Vietnam, many from my elementary school, Grout, in southeast Portland, and my high school, Cleveland, served during