The worst cookies at boot camp

After three weeks in boot camp at Great Lakes, Ill., I was turning 18 years old in 1966. We all had instructed our families that we could not receive packages while there. Well, my mother sent a box of cookies for my birthday. I was called into the company commander's office, where, with his feet up on his desk, he and his assistant were eating my cookies and I had to eat the mailing label. This is my worst memory.

My best memory is that after seven weeks, all us advanced recruits were on a train to Chicago for a Bears game.

« Previous story
Next story »