When last we saw The Chas, a new Army recruit, he had been ordered to take a train to San Antonio, Texas, and report to Fort Sam Houston, where he would learn to be an orderly in a mobile Army surgical hospital (MASH). Unfortunately, he had gotten on the wrong train and ended up in Roswell, N.M., and totally confused.
Part of my confusion related to the individuals I saw all around me. They were definitely not European-American or Mexican, and I had to assume that they were members of a nearby Indian tribe. They had narrow faces, bulging eyes, and gray skin, although they might have painted their skin this color according to a religious ritual. One of these individuals, sensing my confusion, approached and asked solicitously if I were all right. I said no. I was supposed to be in San Antonio, Texas. Out of the goodness of his heart, he offered to drive me as far as El Paso, Texas. I thanked him kindly and hopped into his automobile.
Crossing the city line was the last thing I remembered. The next thing I knew, I was walking down a lonely highway in the middle of the desert. I was really confused then. To make matters worse, I was sore from head to toe as if I had been poked and prodded for hours on end.
Happily, a rancher saw my plight, pulled over, and asked if I needed a ride. I said yes, I was supposed to be in San Antonio, Texas. He said, hop in, that’s where I’m going, too. I couldn’t believe my good luck.
Eventually, I made my way to Fort Sam Houston and when I reported, I was immediately arrested for being AWOL (absent without leave) and thrown into the stockade (literally) while my case was being reviewed. I was there for three days, subsisting on stale bread, luke-warm water, and a pack of chewing gum. For my intellectual edification, I studied the graffiti on the wall, and added some of my own.
The brass finally decided I had not been at fault due to improper supervision at the basic-training camp. I was released from the stockade, directed to the supply sergeant to claim my duffel bag, which had gotten on the right train, and assigned a barracks and a bunk. I was heartily welcomed, in the barracks, not the bunk, by my fellow inmates, uh, comrades-in-arms, who were there to learn to be orderlies in a MASH.
One of the first lessons I learned had nothing to do with the practice of medicine and everything to do with personal survival. Because Fort Sam Houston was in a desert environment, we were advised to be on the look-out for scorpions. Specifically, we were advised to shake out our boots each morning before putting them on, because those little devils liked to crawl inside where it was comfy. To this day, this ritual has been part of my dressing routine, and I have never been troubled by scorpions.
For the next three months, I learned how to apply a bandage, to clean bedpans, to give enemas, to count out the recommended number of pills/capsules, to mop up spilled bodily fluids, to replaced soiled bedclothes with clean ones, to read thermometers, and to sterilize medical instruments so that the doctors would be safe from infection and imminent death, all in a military-approved fashion.
I was cautioned to never make physical contact with any female nurses. Physical contact with male nurses was permissible, however. Failure to comply with this directive was punishable by an enema twice a day for seven days. Have you ever seen a grown man cry, dear reader? I can tell you that many a soldier got religion on the instant.
When this advanced training was completed, I was given orders to report to a permanent military base. I had been looking forward to serving out the rest of my term in a stateside hospital/infirmary. But, alas! that was not to be my fate.
During my induction at Fort Sheridan in Chicago, I had been asked, if I were to be transferred to an overseas base, would I prefer either Germany or Korea. Half in jest, I had replied that I’d like to be transferred to the U.S. Embassy in Moscow as an orderly in its infirmary. I had learned to speak Russian and was well qualified to run medical errands in that metropolis. The sergeant who had asked the question was not amused. I didn’t care for Korea because I am allergic to cold weather, so I chose Germany. Fortunately, I had learned to speak German.
My new posting would take me to Nuremburg and the Third Armored Medical Company. In a future essay, I’ll take up that period in my military career, beginning with my experiences on a boat.
Just a thought.