This Ain't No Shit!

By Richard Archer

The collection of life experiences enclosed herein are true incidents that I witnessed or actively participated in. In many of them, I narrowly evaded some dire consequences of military justice via avenues of quick thinking, slick talking, or just plain dumb luck! I discovered a couple of best kept secrets that helped me skate through these adventures. Those secrets being, know what is in the Bureau of Personnel manual; have a good understanding of the grievance procedures (under the right circumstances, an enlisted dude can put the Commanding Officer on report; but you had better do your homework!); and lastly, tie in with a mentor who will show you the "ropes" about the Navy! Now this is in no way a sailor's guide to misbehaving. It is simply a comical look at one sailor that may well have proven himself to be a "magnificent bastard" as he advanced from Seaman Recruit to Senior Chief!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9781645445791

Book preview

Getting Drafted

On 18 December, 1961, I had just gotten back to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, after a really great start at Penn State University. I had completed my first semester in a two-year course in Ornamental Nursery Management with truly decent grades and looking forward to a fine Christmas break with the family and my girl. Nope! I was not thinking about going back to school in January at this time. After all, I was a focused individual on the important things in my life, fun! School was on the far end of three and a half weeks of p-a-r-t-y!

Then it happened. About three days after Christmas, I got drafted into the United States Army! I wasn’t one bit happy about this because I was pushing twenty-two years old, and my sister and I had made plans to open a greenhouse and flower shop together when we finished at State.

Now, here they came with this BS about, Greetings from the President of the United States. You are hereby ordered to report to the induction center at 401 N. Broad Street on or before 12 January 1962. Crap! I didn’t even vote for the dude! (J. Kennedy—didn’t want him, didn’t like him.)

Everybody was a bit upset. After I got myself together, my SDD (Sly, Devious, and Diabolical) side showed up: I decided to go shopping! See, the letter did not say to check in at the nearest Army Recruiting Station, Base, or any other Army specific site; so because I had grown up in a gang-ridden area of Philly called the blood bucket, I didn’t! I went to all branches of the military (even the Coast Guard and Civil Air Patrol). I came home with a bunch of papers, brochures, and pamphlets, etc. The stack must have been two feet tall.

I sat next to the kitchen wastebasket and, over the next couple of days, eliminated all but two brochures: one Air Force, one Navy. At this point, I thought about my cousin Bob Archer’s time in the Air Force. He went from Philly to boot camp at Lackland Air Force Base, Texas, and then Keesler AFB, Mississippi, for technical training, then on to Bitburg, Germany, for two or three years then back to Philly. Whoopdy-doo! Not for me! I liked to travel.

My dad used to drive a tow bar rig all over the country. He would drive one car and pull the other with a tow bar that attached to the bumpers of the vehicles, and he would take me on trips with him when school let out for the summer. Well, I got a big vagabond’s foot from those trips and wanted to see more of the country and the world. Plus, I had never joined a gang, but I had my run-ins with several of the guys. I figured that if we got into a war thing, if you were going to shoot me, you would have to shoot me through something. Bingo! Go, Navy!

I threw away the other brochure and went to the Navy Recruiter’s office and signed up. I did so well on the entrance tests. I was put into the Electronics Field Seaman Recruit Program (EFSR), which guaranteed a school in electronics. Other than that, I had no clue about what it meant!

And this ain’t no shit. Five years later, I got another draft notice addressed to me onboard the ship I was stationed! Way to go, genius, wherever you are!

Boot Camp Inspection

Sworn in on 17 January 1962 as a Seaman Recruit (SR) Navy and put on a bus to the airport and a flight to Chicago, Illinois. My group of ten recruits was met by a Chief Petty Officer, who guided us to a bus, taking us to Great Lakes Naval Training Center.

Boot camp was full of surprises and other things. However, the most outstanding thing for me took place at one of our personnel inspections. This idiot was standing at attention in ranks. Now, this ain’t no shit!

The inspecting officer walked up and looked him over, and to this day, I swore that Company Commander (CC) had ESP or some weird powers! He suddenly reached into the guy’s left peacoat pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes! He then went in the right pocket and came up with a can of lighter fluid! Now he told this turkey to open his mouth, and when he did, the CC shoved the pack of smokes into his mouth. He then took the lighter fluid and sprinkled all of it on the guy, head to foot, and asked the dude standing next to the smoker, Have you got a match?

The recruit said, No, sir!

The CC said, Why not?

While the recruit was telling the CC that he didn’t smoke, the other guy was scared shitless, crying and shaking all over the place.

The CC said, Guess it’s your lucky day, asshole. You bringing any more cigarettes to inspection?

Needless to say, the response was negative!

Shots

While experiencing the wonders and terrors under the gentle and nurturing guidance of the Company Commanders at Great Lakes Recruit Training Center, there came a time when each trainee must need get a multiplicity of medicinal shots—all in one day!

The plan was, you got your shots and got out quickly so you stepped in between two sets of corpsmen, each set having air-powered syringes with two shots for you—two in the butt, and one in each arm. Each of us were cautioned to not flinch or move away from the shots because the air pressure would rip your arm wide open!

The problem here was that some guys were needle-shy. Two guys moved and had to be taken to the hospital to be sewn up! Others let the needle hit, and boom, on the floor! Some others like me had reactions to some of the shots. My problem was the butt shot with some stuff called Bicillin. That crap put a hitch in my get-along so bad I had to go to a Holding Company for a week or so while I got over not being able to walk right. My butt cheek felt like I’d been kicked by a large mule! I made Walter Brennan look like a track star.

The time I spent in Holding caused me to be transferred to a new Company. My original company had completed phase 1 of training and had moved across the road to start phase 2 at a different camp. Never saw any of them again!

Barracks Motorcycle Race

The day I reported to Holding Company, I figured out that the guys here were not handling life with a full seabag! Two guys were pretending to be motorcycles! One was a Yamaha; the other was a Harley-Davidson! Now we were on the second floor (deck in the Navy), and the barracks was built in the shape of the letter H. These two decided to race the length of the passageway between the long legs of the barracks. They took off like bats out of hell and went headlong down the passageway, making motorcycle noises! They were supposed to make a turn at the far end and come back to the start point; however, the Harley pushed the Yamaha during the turn, and he went out the window and fell to the ground. And this ain’t no shit, he amazingly suffered only a sprained ankle!

I was assigned to Company 44 after Holding Company and moved with the Company to phase 2 of recruit training.

All Sailors Are Bastards!

Several weeks after moving to phase 2 training, we were permitted one day of liberty and allowed to leave the base. I went to Chicago and wandered around a bit, looking for a movie theatre. I approached a young lady and asked if she might direct me to a theatre. I was blown away when she actually yelled at me that her mother told her that, All you sailors are bastards! After a moment, my response to that was, Dear heart, any man can be a bastard, but one must be special in order to be a magnificent bastard! Have a nice day, bitch!

Thirty Days’ Leave

After graduating from boot camp, I had acquired thirty days’ leave time and went home to Philly—before having to report to Radarman A School at, yep, Great Lakes, Illinois!

While on leave, I was told of a dance coming up and was asked by Carole Williams, a longtime friend, to take a friend of hers to this affair. She said her name was Mary Summers. I agreed and made myself available to meet this lady. She was an unmitigated fox! She was tall and slim with deep brown eyes and a smile that made the sun rise higher in the heavens! I immediately regretted having to go back to Great Lakes. However, I did have to ask while at the dance if she had a boyfriend. To my great chagrin, she said she was engaged to a dude in the Air Force! Dammit!

I’m Out to Break Up Your Engagement!

We continued to go out while I was still on leave, and I was getting more attached to her each time we were together. Although we never made love, we got close once. She asked that I stop due to her being engaged, and I did as she requested, but the bastard in me showed up, and I told her, I’m out to break up your engagement. I would like to put a ring on your finger if you will have it. A tear fell from her eye, and she kissed me on the cheek and said she was getting married in January. I reported back to Great Lakes in April 1962, and we lost touch for a while because I wrote one letter to her and got no response. I then let ego get in the way of good sense.

Radarman A School

Reported to Radarman A school and was doing fine learning about the workings of radar systems and how to fix the thing when it crapped out.

One day I asked the instructor, Why is there so much animosity between Radarmen and engineering rates [Snipes].

He said, That’s because Radarmen are the smartest among the enlisted people aboard ship.

I scoffed.

He came back with, There’s not a man in this school with less than a 110 GCT/ARI score. (These were test scores attached to a battery of tests given in boot camp used to determine your future in the service.)

I smirked and told him, That’s not true! I know somebody with a 94!

He said, Bullshit, Archer!

To which I said, Request you check my score.

His unbelief was evident, so he put us on a break and went to the office to prove me wrong. Ha!

He came back into the classroom totally subdued. He asked me, How in the hell did you get in here with that crappy 94 and maintain a 97 average?

Feeling quite smug, I told him, I came in on the EFSR Program [remember that from before], which guaranteed a school in electronics regardless of GCT/ARI score.

He was out of sorts for the rest of the day.

This was also the day I found out that some of the classmates were having some difficulty with me being the only Negro in the school. There were rumblings of unfair treatment allowing me to be in the school, and this ain’t no shit. This was before the advent of Civil Rights Movements, Affirmative Action Programs, and the Black Panthers!

No NESEP for You!

While still in Radar A School, I made the mistake of applying for the Navy Enlisted Scientific Education Program (NESEP). This program provided a path to elevate oneself from enlisted to officer status via completion of four years at an accredited college or university and agreeing to stay in the Navy for an additional six years.

It became crystal clear that Commander Scott, the Commanding Officer of the school, was not interested in clearing the path for me to take advantage of the opportunity.

First I was told by him that I would have to write a thousand-word essay stating why I wanted to be an officer and what I felt I could contribute to the Navy as an officer.

Secondly, he told me I would have to retake the battery of tests I took in boot camp in order to improve my scores to a more acceptable level. He was nice enough to be the first to inform me that test scores usually declined upon retake.

Thirdly, the individual administrating the tests made it plain that scores generally declined rather than improved, yet after retaking the tests and achieving a twenty-nine-point increase in the GCT/ARI, this information