April 1970, Fort Polk, La. After spending a week getting prepped and shot up with 100 needles and air guns, came “that day.” The drill instructors (DIs) came over, picked us up and marched us to our barracks. The sky was dark, it was misting and here came the senior DI. He stood there looking menacing for a little bit, and then all hell broke loose. He called us every name in the book, poked a few of us in our foreheads with the bill of his hat, and called out “mothers’ names.” Suddenly, a soldier broke rank and started running. The senior DI yelled out “rabbit running!” At that moment a corporal came around and threw him an M14. The senior DI aimed, fired and dropped the soldier. The other DIs walked over, picked him up and threw him in a dumpster. That night the barracks were silent except for a few whimpers and one young man crying.
The next day we fell out into ranks, and to our astonishment, the man who had run walked over to our platoon, wearing a DI hat, and took his position. The senior DI walked out and, after studying us for a minute yelled, “Well, after our demonstration yesterday, three of your fellow troops still took off last night. They will be found and spend time in jail. Anyone else want to go?!”
No one moved. Even after 20 years of service, that’s the one day I will never forget!