Fort Jackson ... 2/28/65 through 4/28/65 ... Memories of "Drag Ass Hill" still in my mind, especially with my rifle over my head marching and sometimes double timing back from the rifle ranges. But more vividly was one of the last nights before leaving Fort Jackson for my next stop at Fort Ord, Calif., for mortar training.
That particular night, six of us were celebrating basic being nearly over at the beer hall across from our training barracks. Of course we had too many Hamm's and Falstaffs and the jukebox was playing "My Girl" over and over to which we kept singing it over and over. We had been requested to stop by the beer hall people; we did for a while but started again. We were so happy that basic was so close to being behind us. We sang the song one more time. But to remind us that basic wasn't quite over, our platoon sergeant and a couple of MP's entered the beer hall and ask us to leave with them, which we did. But after arriving back at our barracks we were instructed by our platoon sergeant to get full pack and meet in the company street. Oh. Now it was raining and dark. He marched us down "Drag Ass Hill" one more time. At the bottom was a PT field along with a barbed wire course. We refined our jumping jacks and crawled under the barbed wire on our backs; of course, water and sand complemented our fatigues. We were a wet sandy mess. We then march back up "the hill" to our barracks. Upon entering our barracks dripping and full of sand which had just been cleaned, we then had to not only clean ourselves but the barracks. But the bonding the six of us have from that night can never be removed.