In December 1943 I enlisted as a young, innocent, 17-year-old in the U.S. Army Air Corps. A month later I was called up to Fort Hayes, Columbus, Ohio, to start my basic training.
Early morning on day one, we lined up to receive our uniform. What an ill-fitted uniform it was: pants, way too long; shirt, too tight; shoes, two sizes too big; and a cap, way over my ears. I felt and looked like the original “Private Sad Sack.”
Next we were rushed through our mess hall for a hurry-up chow, so we could be introduced to our other adventure, the barracks, to relax. Typical Army – hurry up and wait.
We were assigned our empty bunk bed with only the mattress that was rolled up. I lay down on the spring with my head on the mattress, a toothpick in my mouth, and got comfortable.
Suddenly, in march a bunch of perplexed, green recruits with wide open mouths, duffel bags in hands, looking curiously around the room. One stopped in front of me, took off his baseball cap, stood at attention to salute me with his left hand and asked “Sir, how long have you been in the Army?”
I slowly saluted back, took the toothpick out of my mouth, took a deep breath and said, “ALL DAY.”