Basic Training oriented the new inductee to Army life. Advanced Individual Training (AIT) taught him a specialized military profession. Although that seems easy enough to understand, many enlistees like myself knew nothing about how military training schools were set up or how to plan our careers closer to our abilities and desires until we were well into AIT and it was too late to start over. Because of my ignorance, and because the Recruiting Sergeant who signed me up was more concerned with making his monthly mission (or quota) than a recruits career, my enlistment was a classic example of a enlistee being bull----ted by his recruiter. Before taking the Army's Oath of Allegiance my only training request on paper was to go to jump school at Fort Benning, Georgia and become a paratrooper. My Recruiting Sergeant didn't tell me that one week of parachute training was a "supplemental course" and not a military profession. He also didn't tell me there were more than 100 Army MOS's to choose from. Nor did he take the time to recommend a school my pre-enlistment test scores would have qualified me for. He probably felt he didn't have to, I walked into his office, he didn't have to talk me into joining. I was what military recruiters called a dream kid. I never had any trouble with the law, never did drugs, and compared to the liberal attitude common among guys my age during the late 60's, I was unquestionably conservative. Of course, after the oath was administered, I didn't get a chance to change my training request. Army was left solely to the discretion of some unknown government clerk who eked out a living on a minimum-wage Civil Service pay. To evaluate the massive battery of examinations given inductees after arriving at their Basic Training posts, the Army hired civilian clerks whose only job was to match military aptitude tests with military jobs. Throughout the testing process those clerks were my greatest worry. Their evaluation of your scores could either make or break you. I was afraid they would interpret my test performance as being so bad they would slot me as a supply clerk who did nothing but count and re-count inventory all day, or a paper-pushing administration clerk whose skill level was based on his knowledge of forms and filing, or even worse, a breakfast cook who had to get up at 4 o'clock every morning. But today, if I could find the clerk who analyzed my test results I'd kiss her for noticing my affinity for learning the Morse code and recommending me for Signal Corps training. The Signal Corps is the Army's communications department. The Morse test was difficult for most people to pass because the speeded-up tones flashed over the loudspeaker in the examination room sounded completely different than the slow-pause tones our Boy Scout toy oscillators made. Morse code was taught in dots and dashes. Army Morse code was taught in dits and dahs. Passing the Morse code test at Fort Ord slotted me into Radio Operator's School (ROC). The ROC program gave remedial instruction in Morse Code, frequency calibration, antenna trim, mobile and fixed radio operation, introduction to teletype and security equipment operation, and the military phonetic alphabet (Alpha for A, Bravo for B, Charlie for C, and so on). Abbreviated codes were also taught. It was while learning the military alphabet that I discovered why the VC were called Charlie. When I learned that Victor stood for V, it was obvious we couldn't give the VC that name. It would be labeling him the winner. That left Charlie as the only other choice. The name Charlie, like the Army's view of the VC, was short, simple, and undignified. One bad habit was referring to number 0 as "oh". The correct way was "zero". We were also told to make a vertical slash down its middle to differentiate it from the capital letter "O". Upon completing ROC, graduates could either end their Signal Corps training and be assigned to a professional position on that level or go on to a higher skill level at the US Army Southeastern Signal School Center (USASESS), at Fort Gordon, just outside Augusta, Georgia. I chose to continue. For me, ROC led to the Radio Teletype/Telegraph (RTT) course. Learning cryptographic operation was a requirement for graduating RTT, and being certified for crypto access facilitated my receiving a high security clearance. USASESS picked up where ROC left off. Providing more detailed instruction in Army communications, the center functioned somewhat like a huge university having separate colleges teaching specific skills. The Center operated 3 RTT company's, each a week apart in training schedules. From USASESS career directions could eventually lead to any of the civilian technical-intelligence agencies like the National Security Agency (NSA), the technical branches of the FBI or CIA, or the Army's own Security Agency (ASA). Army training schools were separated into increasing skill levels. Acquiring higher levels of training enabled you to obtain more prestigious job assignments and higher rank. By separating skill levels the Army was able to filter out students who, for one reason or another, lacked the incentive, capacity, or desire to proceed to a higher level. Although the cost of operating separate schools that often overlapped instruction was greater, dividing them up complimented the Army's rank-grading system by permitting its trainees progression from one level to the next. Arriving in January of '69, Georgia was going through one of its worst winters on record. This was distressing for those of us arriving from sunny California. Our travel orders listed "required dress" as being "fatigue shirts and trousers." We weren't told to expect below freezing temperatures and field jackets were recommended. After landing by commercial carrier at a small airfield used by commercial airline pilots for takeoff and landing practice, we were given a Spartan breakfast in the banquet room of a nearby restaurant. Breakfast consisted of powdered eggs, 2 strips of bacon, a half piece of toast, and a small glass of grapefruit juice. We would later learn our cost-saving starvation breakfast was only a small sample of things to come. When arriving at our new home (Foxtrot Company, 1st Battalion, School Brigade) for the next 11 weeks, we were issued dining cards that had to be displayed at every meal. Any student who lost his card or had it stolen by another starving student was not permitted to enter the mess hall even if the Sergeant guarding the door recognized him. It was no surprise to anyone that the mess hall Sergeant was later replaced for "administrative reasons." He was caught stealing food. Backing his car up to the mess hall after evening chow, one of his kids would help him carry boxes filled with cans to the trunk of his car. Most of the students believed that it was only because he was black, (as were most of the service-related NCO's), that the Army took its time catching him. When I arrived in V'nam I found out that black Sergeants and their white officers worked together for their mutual profit. Barrack heating was another area where the Army allowed unscrupulous NCO's to skimp on. The RTT barracks were 2-story, pre-WWII, wood-frame structures. Senior students, having preferential choice where they wanted to sleep, usually bunked on the top floor because heat rising from the bottom floor kept the upstairs warmer. Our heater consisted of a 4-foot pot-belly coal burner. The stove was located in a tiny boiler room under the barrack. Access to the boiler room was made through a small 2-foot square porthole located on the side of the building. It wasn't until mid-March before we discovered the boiler room while trying to retrieve a class ring that had slipped through a crack in the floor above it. No one knew about the boiler room before because with the rapid turnover in personnel all classes currently in session had recently arrived. The NCO's who ran the barracks and signed the coal delivery manifests never bothered to tell us how to heat the water or barracks. CO, cfnm whose job it was to manage the barracks, didn't seem to care whether we froze or not. After getting the stove running, our next problem was finding enough coal to keep it burning around the clock. It took several trips to Battalion headquarters to get regular coal deliveries made weekly. Naturally, we wondered what was happening to the money that was supposed to already have been spent on coal. What if a lightning bolt hit your rig and fried your crypto gear? What if a tank ran over your power generator? What if your frequency adjuster rusted stuck? What if your girlfriend's husband poured coffee into your transmitter then pushed your head in and made you lick it out? Remember," they repeatedly told each other, "we know these are forgeries, but she doesn't. If we really believe they'll work, she'll believe they're real and we'll get over on the bitch! Go To 'Nam. Go Directly To 'Nam. Do not Pass Go. Get that pot!", "Clean that bowl! Pick up that tray!