I was the youngest of four children with two older brothers who had already served or were still serving when I entered the Army. I thought I was prepared for what was ahead of me with all the guidance I had received from my brothers about how to stay out of trouble and not do lots of grass drills for being a screw up. Plus, I had been an officer in high school JROTC.

I went to the enlistment station in Milwaukee and then was sent to Fort Leonard Wood, Mo., for my basic training. I was excited about going to Fort Wood because my oldest brother, a decorated Vietnam veteran, was back stateside stationed there, and I had not seen him in over two years. I got to Ft. Wood and went to the reception center to await basic and spent the next two weeks there at the reception center.

Finally our drill instructor informed us we would be moving to basic barracks to begin our training, and he instructed us on how we would be moved from reception to basic. Drill instructor Huffman said the 12th Transportation Company was going to send trucks to reception, and they would load our duffel bags onto the trucks and move them to our new home while we marched to the barracks. He said when we arrived the trucks would be waiting, and the transportation people would unload the bags from the trucks for us. "What a great deal—we don't have to move our own stuff," I thought. My brother was assigned to 12th Transportation, so maybe I would see him.

The transport trucks arrived, and we left our bags on the ground and began the march across the post to our new home. I was a little disappointed my brother was not among the transport people, but oh well, maybe another day. As we marched, our drill instructors explained to us how the trucks were to be unloaded. We would march up, stop and stand at rest, a name would be called out and if it was your name you were to run to the back of the truck, retrieve your duffel bag and get back into formation. However, if you dropped your bag you would be doing 50 push-ups.

As we approached the new barracks we could see the transport trucks sitting in front of the barracks waiting for us. We stopped, did a left face and stood waiting nervously. None of us wanted to fail at our mission or have to do push-ups. Like a choreographed routine, three trucks, three names screamed out, three duffel bags flying through the air and three distinct thuds as the duffels hit the ground and the constant screams from the drill instructors: "Drop and give me 50, private." Pushing, shoving, yelling, straining to hear your name and praying you'd make it in time to catch your duffel bag.

"McLain."

I started a dead run between the two men in formation in front of me—nearly knocking them over as I ran toward the back of that truck. I remember it as if it were in slow motion: my name, me running, but no duffel bag in the air. Had I screwed up? Was I hearing things or was it that voice in my brain that was racing?

Then it hit home, that voice was my brother's. I stopped at the back of the truck and saw my oldest brother kneeling inside holding my duffel bag. He leaned over and gently placed it into my arms. I can still hear him saying for the whole company to hear, "McLain, J.A., private first class, make sure you got it—don't want it to get dirty. After all, you are my baby brother, Curly."

(Wow—Curly, a nickname giving me by my father at birth and my brother called me that up until the day he died.)

Knowing what was going to happen to me now, I didn't think and looked him in the eye and thought, "you a--hole"—only it wasn't a thought, it was out loud.

That's when I felt the hand on my shoulder, Huffman's. I vaguely remember the words, for special treatment 100, disrespecting a non-commissioned officer (my brother was a staff sergeant) 500, not letting the duffel hit the ground 1,000 and so on. I thought I would be doing push-ups the rest of my life. As I did those push-ups, watching my company going inside the barracks, I saw two sets of boots walk up in front of my prone body.

"On your feet, private."

I snapped up, stood at attention and saw Huffman and my brother standing in front of me laughing. They told me they were good friends and when they heard I was coming to Fort Leonard Wood for basic, they pulled some strings and set the whole thing up as a way to welcome me into the Army. They said if I ever needed to confide in someone they were both there for me.

From then until his death if my brother and I were together and talked about the military this story came up and we laughed harder each time we heard it.
I miss him.