The date was Oct. 23, 1984—my first day in Basic Training at Fort McClellan, Ala. I was assigned to A-11 one station unit training (OSUT) for military police (MP) training.

The drill sergeant got on the bus and politely greeted us. Just as he finished his introduction, he screamed to get the hell off his bus. Several drill sergeants lined the sidewalk up to the bay area. Everyone was scared to death and scrambling to get off the bus, and all were running as fast as they could. MP OSUTs has a mix of men and women. This one woman in front of me—loaded down with her duffel bag on her front, ALICE pack on her back and a suitcase in each hand—stopped for just moment and set down both suitcases, probably to get a better grip. Unable to see this as my duffel bag was also on my front, I plowed right into her, knocking both of us down. As quickly as I could, I conducted my first "combat roll" off her, got on my feet and moved out as fast as I could and did not look back. I could hear the drill sergeants’ shark-fest tearing this poor woman up for laying there.