When I went home for the week end, it was time for final exams for the fall semester. It was also time for a birthday party for one of the guys that I had met during my time working in the warehouse of Colossus Midland Belting and Supply Company. That was my family's place and a wonderful place to work.
During that time, I met a lot of guys that had elected not to go to college and instead, found jobs working for various freight companies like Red Ball Motor Freight, East Texas Motor Freight and other National Carriers. These were big boys and were well suited to unloading trucks. They looked more like weight lifters and football players than anything else. One of the guys was so stout, his nick name was "Heavy Duty". In any event, I decided to attend the party and went with other friends of mine to a bar that was located in Downtown Shreveport. I don't remember the name but I will never forget that night.
I went to the bar and asked if they had any cards there. I was really good at doing card tricks and thought I could add some humor to the party by doing one trick that allowed me to have someone pick a card, put it back in the deck, let me shuffle the entire deck and then throw the whole deck on the floor with only the card he picked landing face up. The bar tender told me there was no gambling allowed and when I explained that I was only going to do a card trick for the party, he said it was okay and handed me the deck.
As I was preparing the deck for the trick, another guy came up and said: "There's no gambling here, put the cards away". As I was explaining that I was part of the birthday party and was only going to show them a trick, he cold cocked me, broke my nose and knocked me out.
As I was laying on the floor in a pool of blood, one of the truck drivers came to look for me only to see me laying on the floor in a large pool of blood. He went back to the tables and every one of the truckers came to the front where I was still on the floor. The first one there was carrying one of the huge glass beer mugs that were popular during the 60s. The next one was the place kicker on the Northwestern football team. They were followed by "Heavy Duty" and the rest of the crew, the worst possible group of people to piss off.
Tommy, in a loud voice, asked: "Who did this"? A big guy, the one who broke my nose, said: "I did, what about it"? Right after he said: "I did" and just before he could say: "What about it", the big glass beer mug crashed into his head and it spun him around and put him on the floor. As he was trying to get up and was on all 4s with his back to us, the place kicker lined up and kicked him in the nuts with a shot that would have surely produced a 50 yard field goal. I picked up a bar stool and was about to hit him in the back of the head but Harvey Maybry ( I think) was there and stopped me by grabbing the bar stool and saying: "Don't do it, you'll kill him".
About the time the bar tender yelled at everybody and told us to "Get out of here", Heavy Duty kicked him in the ribs with several other truckers kicking him in the head. With that, they drug him out the front door and literally threw him on the hood of the first car they found. He was bleeding like the proverbial "stuck pig".
They were like a gang of hyenas surrounding their prey and they were beating the shit out of him. My guys grabbed me and said: "We've got to take you to a hospital before you bleed to death" and off I went to the Schumpert Hospital. I was too drunk to operate on but after many hours, I had surgery and ended up with 16' of surgical packing stuck up my nose and the most God Awful looking plate attached to my nose. I found out later that the sucker puncher ended up at Doctor's Hospital and underwent surgery to fix his broken bones and address the blood coming out of his ears from the concussion he received for his assault on me. I never threw a single punch but the bad guy must have taken a hundred plus the kick to his nuts. He deserved every bit of what he got.
In any event, I missed the last part of my final exams that semester, received an "Incomplete" as a grade, dropped my GPA to a level that took away my college deferment with the draft board and before I knew it, I was classified 1A and received orders to report for a physical exam for the Army.
When the draft notice came, I was already back at Northwestern attending class as a student on probation but nothing helped. I was a gonner and showed up for the physical and induction. My semester was done and by May of that year, I departed for Ft. Polk in Leesville to begin basic training. I was laughing my ass off when I discovered one of the passengers on the bus was none other than Harvey Maybry. Long before we finished the two hour bus ride to Ft. Polk, we had put together a buddy system plan and stuck together like glue.
By the time we had experienced the Army's welcoming committee at the bus station, transport to the base and given our shaved head haircuts, we were sent to supply to get uniforms and bedding. I'll never forget the first night in the barracks because some guy who had been drafted was crying like a baby. It was his first time away from home and he was totally out of control with the situation. Maybry and I were astounded by it and made note that some boarding schools were tougher than the things we were seeing before us. Hell, Punkin Junkin at Jesuit was far worse than day 1 in the Army.
I was ordered to report for KP or Kitchen Patrol. What a joke. The staff sgt in control ordered me to take the left over meat from breakfast's dish called SOS or Shit on a Shingle, and pour it into a huge cauldron with holes in the bottom. I was directed to take a garden hose and wash the white gravy off of it because the Meat part of Biscuits and Gravy was to be used as the meat to make spaghetti and meat sauce for dinner. It was putrid but I did it and waited for orders to move out to our basic training company. That didn't take long and as we were marching into the basic training company area of E 3 1 and Bulldog Hall, I was noticing a group of graduates in their starched uniforms, preparing to leave for their next duty assignments.
I saw Tom Mazur, a friend from grade school, and as we passed each other, he said: "Don't worry Butler, you'll do fine". That was the last time I saw Tom but I see his brother John Mazur from time to time and always send him my regards.
There was a lot of yelling and screaming from the Drill Instructors at that time and we were forced into "FORMATION". They made a role call, gave us instructions to report to the barracks that we were assigned to and gave us two minutes to return to FORMATION. You always had to scream when using the word FORMATION.
My Drill Instructor's name was "Lopes". He looked just like George Foreman. There was another one there that looked like PRINCE with short hair. His name was Ratford and everybody called him RAT. The senior drill instructor was a full blooded Indian and his name was Drill Sgt. Kia. I remembered Ray Kipp from St. Gregory's and was really glad that an Indian was in charge of everything. That assumption proved to be right and I gained more respect for him than anyone. He'd already had a tour of duty from Vietnam and he didn't play games. He was totally in to making us bad boys and killers. I liked him a lot.
Before I close this as it's getting a bit winded, I wanted to say that Kia ordered us to head to the practice field where physical training was done. He wanted to find out who was fit and who was not. He did that by timing us as we ran the quarter mile. I blew everybody away and finished first in the company. Little did I know that finishing first would have me assigned as the "Guide On Carrier". That's the guy at the front of the formation that had to carry the Company's Colors which was a flag on a pole that was roughly 6' tall. To me, it was just more stuff to carry when we went on long marches.
Training stories begin next and then my transfer to Primary Helicopter Flight School at Ft. Wolters, Texas. Getting there instead of West Point is a funny story. Thanks for the ear. Tim
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