When I was drafted into the Army in February 1970, I knew, based on movies and TV, I would end up cleaning toilets. After induction, I was sent to rainy Fort Lewis, Wash., for basic training, and was appointed squad leader of the fourth squad in our platoon. Our daily routine included spending an hour each morning cleaning the barracks for inspection. First squad was assigned to pick up litter around the barracks, second and third squads were assigned to clean, wax and buff the two floors of our barracks, and as expected my squad was given latrine cleanup. Upon hearing that, the other squads grinned while we in the fourth squad groaned. But the drill sergeant announced that tasks would be rotated every two weeks, so no one would have to clean the latrine the whole eight weeks of basic training.

After a week of cleaning the latrine, I noticed that we were able to get the job done in 30 minutes, leaving us a half hour of free time. After the latrine was cleaned, we would lock the latrine door and sit on the floor in the heated room, while first squad walked around in the rain picking up litter, and the other two squads worked the entire hour to clean the barracks floors. So I asked the 12 guys in the squad if they would consider keeping latrine duty for the entire eight weeks. At first they said, "Are you crazy?" But after I reminded them that we were the only squad that could relax for a half hour every morning, and that the work was easy and indoors, they agreed.

That day I went to the drill sergeant and requested that the fourth squad be allowed to clean the latrine for the rest of basic training. He asked if I was joking, to which I responded I was serious. He said okay, but I couldn’t come back to him later and cry to be released from that task. I said that was agreeable, but with the proviso that he would not take the latrine away from us as long as we did a good job.

"Don’t worry about that," he said. "You guys have the job for the rest of basic training."

For the next three weeks we continued to clean the latrine, and got better and faster at it. Because half the potential demerits for barracks daily inspections came from the latrine, our entire platoon benefited because the latrine had no demerits, and consequently we were the honor platoon almost every week. This allowed our platoon to eat first in the mess hall and to pass extra duties on to the dud platoon (the platoon with the most demerits each week). Then I received word that the platoon drill sergeant wanted to see me.

When I reported to the drill sergeant he asked me what was going on in the latrine.

"What do you mean?" I asked, realizing that the guys in the other squads must have peeked through the latrine windows and had seen us sitting on the floor doing nothing.

He said normally no one wants to clean the latrine, but for some unexplained reason, he had requests from two other squad leaders in the platoon requesting that their squads clean the latrine. I, of course, said I had no idea why and reminded him that he had promised we could keep it, and he agreed.

Thus, we turned lemons into lemonade.